New Patterns & Old Fr : 04 Hidden Things
by kalinda001
Summary: New Patterns & Old Fr Series. #4. In order to save the crew, Avon walks back into the lion's den after convincing them that he has accepted a deal with Servalan. Of this series, this is the hardest story for Avon. The rest of the crew have an adventure.
1. Chapter 1

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter One

Avon opened his eyes. His head was throbbing and his ears were ringing. The unfamiliar surroundings added confusion.

"Avon, you're awake!" shouted Vila, who was standing by Avon's bio-bed in the medical bay of the _Justice_. "Cally, Avon's awake!"

Vila's voice was grating and aggravated the pain in the analyst's head even more.

"Shut up Vila," Avon told the thief. He winced, even the sound of his own voice made the pain worse. Avon put his hand to his head, and noticed that he was no longer wearing the manacles. For a moment he stared at his wrist with confusion on his face.

"I took them off," explained Vila. "Do you want to see them?"

"Don't be a fool Vila," Avon whispered to the thief. "Stop shouting."

Until now, Avon had not been sure if this was another one of his nightmares; the Vila of his dreams was cruel and full of hate. This one was just annoying; it had to be the real Vila.

"How are you feeling Avon?" a soft feminine voice asked.

Avon turned his head and saw that Cally had approached the bio-bed on his other side.

_Cally. _For a brief moment Avon felt relief; she was still alive. He did not know how or why, but from the looks of his surroundings, he was back on the Deep Space Vehicle. The last thing he remembered was being sedated by the medtech back in his cell at the Special Detention Centre.

"Cally."

"You must be confused."

"The last thing I remember was falling asleep in my cell."

"They didn't tell you where you were going?"

"I was going somewhere?" he asked, becoming even more confused by the minute, even though his face reflected nothing.

"They didn't even tell you that?" Cally could not hide the anger in her voice as more of the Federation's cruelty came to light.

Avon was concerned now. It was obvious a lot had happened between the time he fell asleep and when he woke up here. He had to know how long it had been; but he could not let them know why.

"You'd better tell me everything."

"We received a message from ORAC that you were still alive."

_So the ASP got through,_ thought Avon _I need access to ORAC and I have to be careful. _His mind began making plans.

Cally continued speaking. "ORAC told us that you were being moved to a testing facility just outside of Pacifica Dome. We rescued you before the transport reached the facility. Vila got you out."

"Vila?" asked Avon, his tone clearly not quite believing this statement.

"Don't sound so surprised," said Vila indignantly.

Avon smiled. He remembered that insulting Vila had been one of his favourite past times. It seemed so long ago.

"How long ago did you rescue me?" Avon asked casually.

"About four hours."

Avon looked around the room, taking in his surroundings, and noting the time from the indicator on the wall. As a safety margin, he marked the time for five hours since he was rescued. _Forty-three hours left,_ he noted to himself He wished he had more time, but he realized he was lucky that they hadn't sedated him and let him sleep until tomorrow.

"Where is your glorious leader?" asked Avon.

Vila replied, "He's on the flight deck with Jenna."

"You were always the follower Vila," remarked Avon. His question had been a sarcastic one. It was clear Vila had fully accepted Argus as his leader.

"Tell him I need access to ORAC," he told Vila.

"He's not going to like that."

"You remember what happened before Vila. I need to know if this is all real, or just an illusion by the Federation interrogators. For that I need time alone with ORAC."

"You need to rest Avon," Cally told him gently. "You can do that later." She couldn't read him but at the edges of her awareness she could sense that he was deliberately trying to block her. "We've only made a start of fixing some of the injuries you had. It's going to be along time before you're fully healed."

Avon explained to her, "You know I cannot rest until I know whether all of this is real or not. Nothing you can say will be able to convince me, I need to find it out for myself. If you want me to recover faster, you need to convince Argus to give me access to ORAC."

He was deliberately manipulating them; he could not spare the time for subtlety. If they thought about it carefully, they would realize what he was saying did not make any sense. But he was depending on their guilt and the sympathy he clearly saw in their eyes, in order to get away with it; and it would facilitate what he had to do later, when they finally realized it.

"Alright, I'll try to talk to him," Cally agreed. Even though she could not read the analyst, Cally had an uncomfortable feeling that he had a deeper agenda than just this simple request. It was not surprising; Avon was always a complex man and rarely revealed anything about himself. But regardless of what that agenda was, the welfare of her patient came first and if that meant getting him access to ORAC, she would do it.

"But you stay here and rest," she told him. "Vila, look after him." Cally headed towards the flight deck.

Avon closed his eyes and rested; his head was still pounding. He needed all of his strength if he was going to do what needed to be done.

There was an awkward silence. Vila had all kinds of questions he had been prepared to ask the analyst but, for some reason, seeing Avon lying on the bio-bed, still exhausted and the marks of torture clearly evident on his body; Vila couldn't bring himself to ask them.

* * *

"The first thing he asks for when he wakes up is access to ORAC?" Argus asked suspiciously.

Cally had just relayed Avon's request and her report of his physical condition.

Argus and Jenna were still on the flight deck. The _Justice_ had escaped from Federation pursuit ships which had been launched against them from Sector One and they had just dropped off the Athol Elite Guard. At the moment Argus and Jenna were in the process of doing a full systems check.

"He said that in order to find out if this is a trick by the Federation interrogators, he needs to be alone with ORAC," Cally replied.

"They must have played tricks on his mind like they did the last time," remarked Jenna as she continued checking her flight panel.

"Did he say why they wanted him?" asked Argus. Despite his willingness to rescue the analyst, he realized that he still did not trust the man.

"Not yet," said Cally. "He probably won't say anything more until he knows that all of this is real."

"Alright," said Argus. He did remember what the Federation had done to Avon the last time he had been a prisoner. "But I want you or Vila with him the entire time he has access to ORAC."

"If you feel it is necessary." Cally could clearly feel the suspicion and mistrust emanating from the rebel leader; and a deeper anger she didn't understand. She knew from the crew, that Avon had killed Blake.

"I do."

Cally picked up ORAC and the command transmitter, from where it had been resting on the table in the conference area, and headed back to the medical wing.

After she left, Jenna asked, "You still don't trust him, do you?"

"No."

"Even after all they did to him?"

"It's _because_ of what they did to him."

"I don't understand."

"If they were after this ship or ORAC, they would have used him to try to get them, but they haven't. That means that he has a value to them that is beyond the _Justice_ and ORAC. We need to find out what that is. You were the one who told me that he is a dangerous man, Jenna; and from what they did to him, they believe that too. We cannot let him be a danger to us or the rebel movement."

Jenna remembered that Argus had said that if they were ever in danger of losing Avon to Servalan, they had to kill him.

"Do you think they broke him?"

"Everyone breaks eventually."

"He didn't before."

"You told me yourself Jenna, he protects himself above all else. They wouldn't have to break him; they would just have to offer him the right deal."

"Then why would they still continue to torture him?"

"From what Vila said, Avon has a strange relationship with the Federation President. It may be that even with a deal, she still doesn't trust him."

"Just like you don't."

"I have different reasons not to trust him."

* * *

Cally brought ORAC into the med unit and put it on the table next to Avon.

She told the analyst, "Argus agreed to give you access to ORAC, but Vila or I are supposed to be with you at all times."

"He doesn't trust me," remarked Avon with approval. A smile played on his lips. _That will make this easier._

"He's a cautious man."

"He's paranoid about me," stated Avon. He smiled.

Cally didn't think that it was something worth smiling about but it was very typically Avon.

"I need to speak to ORAC alone," Avon told her, ignoring Argus's directive. "I am not about to reveal to anyone, what arrangements I set up with ORAC, in order for me to verify that all of this is real."

"We're at an impasse then. Argus will not let you alone with ORAC."

"Argus may not trust me, and I definitely do not trust any of you; but Cally, do _you_ trust me enough to help me verify whether this is all an illusion forced on me by the Federation interrogators?"

Cally was conflicted, with the mention of the interrogators, she remembered why Avon was in the state he was in; it was because of her. She owed him this.

"Very well," she said reluctantly.

Vila said, "Cally, do you think this is a good idea? Argus is not going to like this. Shouldn't we let him know first?"

"I will take full responsibility, Vila. You know _why_ I'm doing this," she stressed to the thief.

Ever since Argus had taken the shot meant for him, Vila had been conflicted in his dealings with the rebel leader; so he definitely knew what Cally was talking about, but it still made him very uncomfortable.

* * *

Several minutes later, Avon was installed in his old quarters. He had convinced Cally to let him use ORAC here while Vila stood guard outside.

_So gullible._

Avon turned on the transmitter. "ORAC, command code gamma two delta three six four."

"Yes Avon," the computer responded. At the familiar voice of the difficult computer, Avon felt a lessening of stress. For the next little while at least, he would be able to make plans of his own.

"Does the crew suspect that you are also acting under my orders?"

"They are as yet unaware of your coded orders."

"The crew do not know that your information comes from me directly?"

"No. You specified that very clearly in the communication relayed by the ASP."

"I have another set of directives for you, also to be put under the same coded classification."

"Very well," the computer said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"Are you aware of the techno-virus which Argus's group obtained information about on Biliar Prime?"

"Of course." Unknown to everyone, it was ORAC who had arranged that information be leaked to the Federation, so that they knew Argus's group would be infiltrating the Advanced Medical Research Division, which was experimenting on the virus. This had resulted in the capture of Argus, and set about events which eventually led to the freeing of Avon from the Special Detention Centre the first time.

"I need you to put all available resources on finding the antidote to the virus, without letting the crew know what you are doing."

"Progress would be infinitely faster if I was not continually bothered by frivolous requests by the other members of the crew," said ORAC.

"I can't do anything about that, you will just have to multi-task. Once you find the cure, you must immediately find a way to get this antidote to Cally. She has been infected. I am making this request to you, ORAC. When or how or what you communicate to the crew in order to fulfill this directive is entirely at your discretion, not at my request. When Cally is cured, I release the coded classification and you are to give all of this information to the crew. Is this clear?"

"I do not understand such an illogical request."

"It is important ORAC, just follow the orders."

"Very well," said ORAC begrudgingly.

"I have a separate set of directives to be put under a different coded classification."

"Are you not done yet?" asked an annoyed ORAC.

Avon spent the next few minutes reviewing his plan to get away from the crew and relaying instructions to ORAC. It was essential that the crew not follow him. He knew he was running a risk, but there was no other way he could see which would achieve the same results in the short period of time he had left.


	2. Chapter 2

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Two

Looks of shock were reflected on all their faces as Avon shot Argus and then pointed the Federation energy pistol in their direction. They were all in the teleporter room.

Avon's plan to get away from the crew was working. For the last forty hours, Avon had been planting seeds of doubt about his true motivations. Using ORAC, he had taken over the ship and directed it to the nearest Federation base. He had also used Zen to lock all of the crew in their cabins while they slept. Argus, who had been on his shift on the flight deck, Avon had taken by surprise at gunpoint; hence the rebel leader's anger. Unfortunately, Vila had managed to escape from his cabin and released his companions. They had all come looking for Avon and caught up with him when he was about to use ORAC to teleport him down to the planet below.

"No one moves and no one else will be hurt," Avon ordered them.

Ignoring him, Cally bent down to examine Argus who had been hit in the right shoulder, and had collapsed to the ground. It was a serious wound but nothing the ship's medical facilities could not handle if he was treated soon.

"What are you doing Avon?" Cally asked.

"What I should have done along time ago," Avon replied. "Stay where you are Jenna."

Jenna had been trying to surreptitiously flank him on his left side.

"He's hurt," Jenna said angrily. "We need to get him to the medical bay."

"He'll live," Avon said coldly. "All of you move over behind Cally. Except you Vila. You go to the teleport controls."

They all did as instructed.

"To think I actually risked my life to save your miserable hide," Vila said angrily.

"Have you forgotten the autoshuttle so soon Vila?"

"I won't make that mistake again," Vila replied vehemently.

"Avon, why are you doing this?" Cally asked. She did not understand. "You saved my life, I thought you had changed."

"It is always dangerous to presume anything."

"You've made a deal, haven't you," Argus accused, he struggled to get up.

"Stay down there. You're much safer where you are," Avon told him.

"I knew you couldn't be trusted." Argus fell back down, supported by Jenna. In truth, he doubted that he could stay up even if he was able to stand.

"It must be gratifying knowing that you were right," Avon said mockingly.

"Avon the Betrayer," Vila said softly, remembering the phrase the Federation criminotherapists had used to program his mind against Avon. "I never thought I would agree with the Federation about anything."

Avon looked at him icily.

"Avon, I need to know," Cally would not let it go. _I need to know_. She projected to him telepathically.

He looked at her dispassionately; there was no indication on his face that he had registered her telepathic communication.

"Argus is correct; I was offered a deal, one worthy of my abilities. I have never believed in any cause, other than my own. I refuse to continue risking my life for a fool's dream."

"Show me someone who believes in something, and I will show you a fool, isn't that right Avon," Vila said scornfully, reflecting what Avon said many years ago to Blake.

"I see no reason to change that opinion," Avon said coldly.

Jenna and Cally also remembered the incident, and the confrontation between Blake and Avon. On that day right before Star One, Avon had expressed his desire to be free of them all, especially Blake. He had never believed in Blake's crusade and he had finally had enough of being continually dragged into and manipulated into face dangers which posed no benefit to himself.

_"_But you are free, Avon," Cally remembered saying to him.

"I want to be free, of him," Avon had replied. In his voice there had been a cold resentment and a controlled anger which had been building for along time. The others may not have noticed, but Avon was very aware of Blake's manipulation of him. Avon played the odds, but Blake from the beginning, manipulated those odds because the rest of the crew followed him and by proxy, the Liberator and ORAC were his. He knew Avon wanted the ship and ORAC, and Blake knew that he needed Avon's abilities.

_Why are you doing this Avon? _Cally projected the question to him. There was still no indication he heard her; he was too focused to hear her.

She was aware of an undercurrent of weariness in him. There was much he was not saying, much he would never say to anyone. _That hasn't changed, has it_? she thought.

In the past forty hours, he had avoided her. As he stood there alone against all of them, she thought she knew why, she felt it clearly. He had been damaged deeply; he did not want anyone to know it.

_You don't have to do it this way. We would let you go._ She knew that he would never accept anyone's help.

"How much did she pay you to betray us?" Argus asked.

Avon looked at him sharply, there was no expression on his face. They all knew the 'she' Argus was referring to.

"You're not worth enough, alive or dead."

Jenna started forward angrily and Avon waved her back down with the pistol. "I wouldn't."

He backed up to the teleport bracelet tray and snapped one on.

"I am following my own path from now on and I am going to be well compensated for it. I am leaving. Do not try to follow me. Do not try to find me."

_This sounds eerily familiar _thought Cally.

Avon continued pointing the energy pistol at them as he backed up onto the teleport pad. "If you do, I promise you will regret it. The teleport coordinates have been locked. You can try changing them Vila."

Vila looked guilty. _Damn how did he know what I was thinking._

"But it would be a waste of time. Once I teleport down, the outbound controls will be cleared and locked so any attempts to follow me would also be pointless. I have directed ORAC to have Zen leave orbit the moment I have teleported down, you will regain control of the ship in three hours."

Without looking at him Avon directed, "Vila put me down."

"I know where I'd like to put you," mumbled Vila to himself as he operated the controls.

* * *

Avon had chosen a special location in a seedy commercial district. It was a cyber-café frequented by hackers who operated on the fringe, he had need of their resources. Vila would be surprised to know how many unsavoury places he knew the ins and outs of, places no alphas would ever be found in, places he had needed in the years he spent on the run from Federation Central Security.

He looked at the time indicator on his wristcomm, he had twelve hours left until the deadline.

He entered the dimly lit establishment, light from numerous monitors and holo-screens seemed to provide the only light. There was a steady noise level, anyone listening to the conversations would think they had entered an alien world and in a way they would have been right. Hackers were a law unto themselves, or so many of them liked to think. Avon despised them but had found them useful in the past. They were undisciplined and many had little more than the pretence of genius, as he had proven many times in the past when crashing one of their vaunted hacker duels. He had found it amusing and occasionally mildly challenging.

Avon approached the bar. A thin, bald man in a short-sleeved green shirt was madly manipulating a hand-interface behind the bar. As Avon neared, he recognized the patterns on the screen. It was a high-level dynamic computational puzzle, a simpler version of one he had used for the phase-TD engine research. The figure was wildly inverting itself, the bald man was clearly out of his depth. Nothing he did seemed to make any difference to the object on the screen and he was getting frustrated.

_Amateur _thought Avon _Emotions have no place in the world of patterns and calculations._

Avon picked up a connected hand-interface and input several calculations and coordinates, the figure immediately slowed down and stopped. There was a pause, then it expanded and became a perfect multi-dimensional shape.

The man stared first at screen and then at Avon, he was clearly dumbfounded. There was a look of awe.

"We've been trying to beat that DCP for three weeks!" he waved his hand, indicating the others in the room. "How did you do that?"

"I can put it back."

"No! Don't do that, I've got to study this. The rest of them are going to be blown away. The name's Cracer by the way, I run this establishment."

The man waited, he clearly expected an answering name.

_I don't have time for this_. "I need a terminal with a secure connection to the Federation CompComm network. One which can't be traced," Avon said in a low voice. It was a loaded request, any secure connection which couldn't be traced, would be by its nature, highly illegal. No self-respecting hacker haven would be without one.

The man made a quick survey of the room.

"Follow me."

"I don't have any credits."

"There are no credits among friends. I would consider it an honour."

_I would choose my friends more carefully_ thought Avon.

The owner led him to a locked room in the basement. It held a single terminal. From various devices hooked up to it, Avon could tell that it had been used to break into secure Federation networks. It was exactly what he had been looking for.

"This door can be secured from the inside," the man showed him the coded sequence to the door panel. "Join me for a drink when you're done."

The man had not asked what he needed the secure connection for, Avon did not tell him. He had still not told him his name, it was much safer for both of them if he didn't. Avon had noticed a back exit on their way down the corridor, this man would not be seeing him again.

Avon sat down at the terminal, slipped on the hand-interface and set to work.

There was just barely enough time to make some preparations, an additional safeguard. ORAC, no matter how powerful it was, was still hampered by the command control of the crew of the _Justice_. There was no way to estimate how long it would take the computer unit to find what he wanted and carry out his plan. He needed something else, an alternate fail-safe. He sent out a call to the ASP he had created to contact ORAC; some extensive programming would have to be added.

The _Justice_. _More politics_ he thought contemptuously at the crew's choice of name for the new ship. Would he never be free of people with political agendas. All he ever wanted was to be able to live his own life in peace; all they ever wanted to do was use him. Now he was going to putting himself back into the hands of another of them, the most treacherous and dangerous one.

After his preparations were completed, he began searching for the Federation President's private communications channel. Once he found it, he set about bypassing the encryptions and security protocols. A face appeared on the screen, she appeared shocked.

"Servalan."

"Avon! How did you get access to this channel? It's supposed to be a secure connection." She did not sound pleased, she had been in the middle of a vidscreen conference with Federation Border Zone Command when Avon had broken into her secure channel.

"I'm coming in, as per our agreement."

"Where are you?"

"On Rygellus in Sector Three, the Gilan system."

"Very well. Present yourself to Federation Security headquarters there. I will alert them that you're coming. Give them your prisoner identifier and nothing else."

He nodded and cut the connection. As a last step, he made a duplicate of the ASP and sent them both on their way. With the prototype already in place, this took almost no time at all for him. All he had to do was change the command codes for the second one. It was a strategic redundancy which would give him an additional safeguard. Before he left, he wiped all trace of his activities from the computer.

* * *

With the connection broken, the Federation Border Zone Command group reappeared on Servalan's vidscreen. Several technicians also seemed to be onscreen.

"I'm sorry gentlemen. There was a special communication, it was not a technical fault. Let's have a half hour break and we will resume at eleven hundred standard time."

As they signed off, she called her assistant.

"Corry, contact the Federation Security headquarters on Rygellus, the Gilan system in Sector Three. I want to speak to the area commander there and inform psychostrategist Sester to meet me after my meeting with Border Command."

"Yes, Madame President."

_My dear Avon. You are coming back to me, that is good. But you've made me very angry and you won't like it when I'm not happy with you._

From Sector Three, Avon should be arriving in less than six hours. She smiled. Then the fun would begin. _But no for you Avon.

* * *

_

"Tell your commander that prisoner A5428 is here."

The nameless Federation functionary behind the desk looked up on hearing the voice, he appeared startled. Immediately he depressed a button. They had been warned to expect this man but he hadn't thought it would be so soon.

"The commander is expecting you."

He looked curiously at the man while they waited. He was on the tall side and was dressed all in black, except for some silver pattern along the sleeves. There was a presence about him which was hard to pin down but made him difficult to ignore; an air of indifferent superiority which marked him as an alpha grade.

_Damned alphas, they think they own the world; but you must have pissed off someone pretty high up that they would make you do this._

There was a rush of activity as a contingent of Federation black-uniformed guards in their anonymous head-gear came in and surrounded the prisoner. The man did not react as two of them grabbed his arms and secured his wrists with a set of restraints.

At that moment the commander arrived, the guards all snapped to attention.

"So you're the one all the fuss has been about?"

The prisoner looked at him absently, he appeared to be bored.

The commander was not pleased, he struck out and hit the prisoner in the stomach. The man doubled over but did not make a sound. The commander was a former boxing champion in the Federation military cage matches, he could still flatten most opponents with a single punch. He had held back this time, the orders were to leave the prisoner alone and to convey him at the fastest possible speed to Central Security at the Primary Spaceport in Sector One.


	3. Chapter 3

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Three

"ORAC you traitor, why did you do it?" Vila accused the computer unit which was sitting on a table on the flight deck. To the surprise of the others, Vila had volunteered to take a shift with ORAC.

Argus the ill-temperedly patient was being tended to by Cally in the ship's medical bay. Her original diagnosis had been correct, his injury was serious but nothing which the advanced medical facilities of the _Justice_ could not handle.

Jenna was making a sweep of the entire ship to make sure that Avon had not left any 'surprises' for them. Vila was monitoring the status on the flight deck. The ship was still following the pre-programmed pattern initiated by Avon.

_Please be specific. What is the 'it' you are referring to?_

"Why did you help Avon betray us?"

_That reference has no meaning._ ORAC spoke with the same annoyed tone it often employed when dealing with humans. _Specify what is it you wish to know_.

"Oh come on ORAC, don't play coy with me."

_Am I to understand that you are referring to my following Avon's orders?_

"Exactly."

If ORAC was human, it would have been giving a loud sigh right about now. Illogical humans.

_I followed the orders of the command source. That is all. Help and betrayal are human concepts. They have no relevance when applied to this unit._

"So you were just following orders."

_That is correct._ The computer spoke to him using a tone one commonly heard from someone speaking to a delta-grade child with a learning impairment.

As it was interacting with Vila, ORAC registered a coded message sent from the head of Federation Security on Rygellus to the Terran Presidential headquarters. It also noted that shortly afterwards, the fastest pursuit ship above the planet was ordered to make immediate preparations to leave.

"That sounds like an excuse to me ORAC."

_It is merely a statement of fact. If you did not want me to follow Avon's orders, you should not have given him access to the command transmitter._

"Are you saying that it's our fault?"

_Assigning fault is an irrelevant human activity and is an improper use of my time. _

Vila was angry and wanted to take it out on someone, ORAC was not cooperating.

"You're a bad computer ORAC."

* * *

Avon was delivered to Residence One via the secret underground passage. They dragged him unresisting into the President's private office, positioned him a distance in front of the President's desk and forced him to his knees. "Stay there until you're told to move," he was ordered.

The Federation President was extremely busy, it was supposed to be a rest day for her but affairs of State took precedence. She barely took notice as the guards and their prisoner entered, and continued to pay no attention to the kneeling man after the guards left.

She looked at the time indicator on her terminal.

_Two hours to spare._ She sent a coded instruction to have the techno-virus' countdown turned off; the girl could live. Servalan felt a twinge of jealousy. _Who is she to you that you would give up your freedom to save her life._ She had toyed with the idea of having the girl killed but Cally was much too useful as a lever against the analyst.

_I wonder what you've been up to in the last two days. _

Servalan remembered that she had resolved to kill Avon the next time she saw him; but he had returned, the controls had worked. She was now determined to make him regret ever having defied her.

The ground was hard, it was difficult to ignore. As she continued to take no notice of him, Avon's knees began to hurt; kneeling there was cutting off circulation. But one thing he had learned over the past two years was that he had a high tolerance for pain. She was playing games with him again, trying to make a point; the only thing he could do was wait.

Servalan watched him surreptitiously as she worked. She knew that he must have been uncomfortable from kneeling on the hard surface but his face did not show any signs of discomfort or pain.

_So stubborn. Well, I can be stubborn too._ She blocked him out of her mind and continued working.

Olean Rane, the dead warlord's chamberlain in Sector Ten. Reports from the sector were indicating that this man was becoming a serious problem. He was a capable man and very decidedly against Federation interests. He currently held what was left of the Athol government together while the squabbling over power took place. Whoever one came out on top in the civil war, which currently appeared to be son number two, would consolidate and legitimize their own power with his help.

This man had to die; the psychostrategy team had made this recommendation in their latest assessment of the situation, brought back by Sester. Servalan sent a coded signal to authorize the assassination.

Reports from the former Star One sector. The high priority rebuilding of the anti-matter mine field was progressing steadily. Avon's work had been instrumental in developing a more efficient mine-grid pattern which required fewer resources, which was good considering the Federation's resources were already stretched to the limit.

A new Federation Defence Zone Command base had been set up and the Eleventh Fleet under Admiral Colair had been tasked for tactical defence capability. There were no reports of alien activity. Since the incursion which resulted in the destruction of the Star One Command Control Centre and the wiping out of ninety percent of the Federation's military forces, things had been eerily quiet from that region of space. Servalan did not trust things which were eerily quiet.

A group of advanced Starburst Mark II deep space pursuit ships using the new phase-TD engine was two months from completion in the Ovyhra ship yards. This was the new engine developed by Professor Tyler's research group, with Avon's invaluable help. The ships were to be used on scouting missions beyond the mine field; the Federation was not about to be caught unawares again.

Servalan reflected on how close humanity had come close to annihilation then. If it had not been for Blake's crew, humanity would never have known it was in danger and Travis' traitorous plan to disable the anti-matter mine field would have succeeded. And from what Cally had told them, if it had not been for Avon's stubborn brilliance which delayed the aliens attack in the desperate hours before Federation forces began to arrive, humanity would have fallen.

_Avon._ She looked over to where he knelt in front of her desk. There was no expression on his face, no indication of his stress except a film of perspiration on his brow. He appeared to be concentrating on a spot on her desk, she followed his gaze. A control box. The control box. She smiled. It was ORAC's activation key.

Servalan switched off the vidscreen. It had been another late day for her; there were a lot of demands on the President of the Federated Worlds but it was time for something more relaxing. She got up from her chair and crossed over to the other side of the desk. Servalan held out her hands to the kneeling man.

Avon looked up at her, reluctantly he took her hands. Using her strength, he tried to stand, it was not that easy when you no longer had any feeling below the knees. His legs buckled, she put one hand around his shoulder. He stood unsteadily, supported on one side by his enemy and holding onto the desk for support.

Servalan pushed a button on her desk panel, a secret panel slid open along the wall, revealing a built-in lift.

With Avon leaning against her, Servalan moved slowly towards the lift. The analyst never knew that the act of putting one foot in front of the other without falling down could be so difficult. In silence they ascended. The lift stopped and the doors slid open, a dimly lit room lay beyond. Automatic sensors activated soft lights revealing a large, tastefully decorated bedroom. A sitting area on the other side of the room held a set of comfortable couches and a low table.

_You couldn't resist could you?_ he thought as he realized the type of room it was.

Servalan let go of him. Not a word had passed between them since the guards had brought him to her. Next to the lift door was a well-stocked liquor cabinet. She deposited the keys to his manacles on the cabinet table and as she walked towards the sitting area, she broke the silence.

"Why don't you release yourself and pour us some wine."

He stood as if frozen for a few seconds, then did as directed.

Holding two glasses of red wine, he walked over to where she was sitting.

"Do you remember the last time you gave me some wine?" she asked as he handed her a glass and sat down beside her on the couch.

"Yes and I also remember that you said you had a long memory."

They both remembered the incident on Sarran well.

It was the first time he had kissed her; the air had been electric between them, then he had gripped her by the throat and pushed her to the ground. It was the first time she had offered him a partnership, which he had firmly and forcefully refused. Until Sarran, they had never interacted on a personal level before.

It had been an insult she never forgot and a passion she could not let go of.

Theirs was a strange relationship; hatred and desire so intermingled it was difficult to separate the two but neither had ever let anything take priority over their need to kill the other. Even now, especially now that he was in her power, his death at her hands was a delayed inevitability; they both knew it. The moment his usefulness ended was the day their contest of wills would end.

"Haven't you had enough revenge?" he asked. "You've already had two years of it." He sat awkwardly, staring ahead, holding the wine glass in both hands.

She had watched him as he followed her orders, pouring the wine and bringing it over to her. She had noticed something strange, even though he was no longer fettered he still moved as if he was.

_You've been a prisoner too long Avon._

"It's not a question of revenge, Avon, it's a matter of getting what I want."

She took a sip of the wine and contemplated him thoughtfully.

"The wine's not poisoned, or drugged," she told him.

"What?"

"I never spoil a good wine." She took another sip in order to reassure him.

Avon looked down at the glass in his hands as if seeing it for the first time. He brought it up to his lips and took a sip, it was excellent; nothing synthetic for the Federation President. He drained the glass and put it down on the table.

Servalan chuckled. "I knew you would appreciate it, you were always a man of taste and discernment but you keep drinking like that and you'll get drunk." She went to the liquor cabinet, got the bottle of wine and came back to fill up his glass.

Again he drained the glass. Servalan took the glass from his hand and placed it on the table.

"You are trying to get drunk," she accused him.

"Why would I want to do that?"

She traced her fingers across his lips. "So much sarcasm. Were you always like this?"

"Yes."

"I can't tell if you're telling the truth or not. There are no records of that early part of your life. It's been quite the game you've had with the Federation Records Bureau, you continually erasing all of your records and they constantly rebuilding them."

He chuckled, "I don't imagine they see it that way." He had started doing that early on in his life.

She laughed, "I don't imagine they do. The Records Bureau doesn't tend to have a sense of humour."

She put a hand against his chest. "Sometimes I wonder if things would have been different between us if we had met much earlier, before we became enemies."

He looked down at the face of the woman who was as beautiful and as desirable as she was deadly. "I doubt it."

"Such coldness. Why have you not asked about Cally? Or the virus?"

"Do I need to? You know our agreement ends if Cally dies."

"Sometimes that calculating mind of yours takes all the fun out of things."

He was right, she would never risk breaking their agreement.

Avon took the partially empty glass from her fingers, placed it on the table beside his, and kissed her, just as he had those years ago on Sarran. As they kissed, he was at war with himself; hatred and passion, passion and hatred, that had always been the nature of their relationship.

As natural enemies, their hatred had always taken precedence; they had repeatedly tried to kill each other. Their passion resulted in their mutual obsession and fascination; and combined with the hatred, they had hunted each other and sought to destroy the other's plans from one corner of the Federation to the other. The few occasions when they had personally confronted the other, each had murder on their minds but each had also been highly aware of their passion for and strong attraction to the other. For a man to whom logic and self-interest always took precedence, and a woman for whom power was her sole motivation; that desire had given a spice to their relationship, and nothing more.

Avon knew what she wanted. Now that he had put himself back under her power, she could act on both the hatred and the passion. He was just surprised that it had taken her this long. Even if he denied her, he knew that there were drugs which could compel his physical reactions to her; he did not want that. This way he still had a semblance of choice; so to do what she would demand of him, he allowed the line between hatred and passion to blur.

He would concede this battle; but with his plans in place, he now had greater hope that he would win the final war between them.


	4. Chapter 4

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Four

Hours later, when Servalan finally slept, Avon got up slowly in order not to wake her. He pulled on his pants and crossed over to one of the large windows which spanned half the length of the wall. It was not a true window, it was a holographic creation showing a live tower-view of Europa city. His memories of this city contained Anna.

The view was breath-taking. _Odd._

He had never appreciated the beauty of the city before, any city. His hand touched the screen as if to capture the vision before it faded away, the scars on his wrist reminded him that it was only an illusion.

Avon was tired. It was not the physical or mental tiredness they would soon force upon him, it was something else. His hand clenched in a fist against the screen, even without the restraints on his wrists, he could still feel them.

He could not remember a time when he was not hunted, could not recall a time when someone didn't want something from him, whether it was the Federation or Blake or those who needed his brilliance and instinct for survival. In the Federation, genius had it's disadvantages, especially one like his, which was why he had decided to use those talents for himself. Now he no longer had that option.

He smiled wryly, this kind of melancholy was alien to him; he had always been known for his lack of emotion, his objectivity. Some accused him of being more a machine than a man; a cold, calculating computer. Now that he was being used as one, it was destroying that which was still human in him.

Servalan watched her captive as he stood in front of the screen; he had thought her asleep but she had been curious. In the dim light of the holo-scape she could make out the scars on his body, some of which she had inflicted. The healing tanks could have easily removed all the marks but some were deliberately left as an uncomfortable reminder for him; especially the ones she inflicted.

Standing with his fist against the screen, he was like a dangerous caged animal. That mixture of hate and controlled passion had not disappointed her tonight; it had been like a consuming fire between them. She had marvelled at his restrained violence and was also surprised by his gentleness. _Did you learn that with Anna?_

She had enjoyed his capacity to give her pleasure, all the more satisfying with the knowledge between them that he did not really have a choice. Power and revenge; he had given her great satisfaction tonight.

He had lived up to his agreement and returned to her, she could not imagine what it took for him to do that, knowing what was waiting for him; and tonight she had made him fully understand the cost, again and again until she was too tired to make any more demands of him. She rolled over and closed her eyes, she would exact no more from him tonight. He would need all of his strength when he was returned to the Special Detention Centre in the morning.

_I let you go my love. _

_You are too valuable and too dangerous to ever be allowed to be free again._

Anna and Servalan; their voices blended into each other. The ghosts had returned.

_No!_ Avon's fist hit the screen in an uncharacteristic display of emotion, causing it to ripple. _Leave me alone._

The analyst could not bear having her become part of his nightmares when she already was in the light of day. He turned around and looked in the direction of the bed, she was still asleep. He noticed the liquor cabinet and remembered alcohol was Vila's favourite drug of choice, apart from soma; he smiled at the thought. _Strange. _He actually missed the thief, he must be in worse shape than he thought; he tried not to think of the hurt and anger in Vila's face as he transported down.

Avon went over and tested the bottles, it was a veritable treasure of alcohols to chose from. He settled on a nice strong brandy and moved over to the couch. He poured himself a large glass; it was not as effective as a sedative, but after finishing the whole bottle he was finally able to sleep.

* * *

"No!"

A shout woke the Federation President as light from the morning sun streamed into the bedroom through the skylight above and the bay window. Servalan stretched and looked around, the bed next to her was empty. _Avon!_ For a second she thought he had escaped again but then she remembered the shout, it had come from the other side of the room. She looked over, Avon was sprawled on a couch; the shout had come from him. In sleep, he move restlessly; with a start she realized that she had forgotten about the nightmares, forgotten that he needed the drugs to sleep and to prevent the terrible dreams.

She wondered if his mind would ever be whole enough to no longer need the drugs but that didn't suit her purposes; she would never allow him that.

She got up, pulled a robe around her and walked over to where he lay. She spied the empty bottle. _I see. You found your own drug but it obviously didn't helped with the nightmares. Serves you right._

"Avon," she called out his name, "it's time to wake up."

She stood an arm's length from him, there was no telling what he would do when woken up in this state.

"Avon!"

In his nightmare he rolled towards the voice, swung out with an arm and fell from the couch, with a shock he woke up. For a moment he was disoriented, unsure of where he was. He shielded his eyes, the light was too bright, his head hurt and he was sore from where his bare shoulder had hit the ground.

"Serves you right for finishing off my most expensive brandy," Servalan noted dryly.

He looked up at her and remembered why he was there. He got up silently, rubbing his shoulder.

"I'll order us up some breakfast. Why don't you go get cleaned up," she told him.

Silently Avon gathered up his discarded clothing and headed towards the bathroom. He had nothing to say. The nightmare-plagued sleep had not done much good, he was tired and his head was pounding.

Watching him as she went over to the comm unit to give instructions to the kitchen, Servalan regretted that her oversight had deprived the analyst of the last opportunity to get a good night's rest. She sighed, this kind of regret had no place in their relationship.

The kitchen staff sent up a light meal as she had instructed. She was hungry from their exertions from the night before and neither had eaten but she knew that it was not wise for him to each much, not with what was in store for him today; but he did need to keep his energy up.

When Avon reappeared, washed and groomed, he looked much better. She had not noticed his clothes the day before, but did now. Where she preferred to wear white, he had taken to wearing black. He wore a silky black shirt and black pants. The black medium-length jacket with a silver chaser pattern down both arms, he lay across the back of a chair. He was still as handsome and as elegant as the first time she had met him, despite the harsh treatment of the past two years.

Although the analyst was frequently starved as part of his treatments, it was never allowed to compromise his health; supplement injections made sure of that. Even though he was kept in a constant state of injury and weakness, she had also directed that his muscle tone be kept up with the use of the healing tanks. She was glad she had done that as she enjoyed him last night; she had not wanted him to become one of the emaciated, physically diminished creatures that the denizens of the Special Detention Centre always became.

Avon had been the figure behind Blake when they broke into the fake Central Control in the Forbidden Zone on Earth; the enigmatic engineer whom Blake held onto for support when he realized that they had all been tricked. Until then she had only known Kerr Avon as a name, the systems engineering genius who had been the focus of Federation Security's Computer Fraud Division for so many years. Even when he had attracted Central Security's attention and they sent their best undercover agent after him, she and Avon had not crossed paths, though she was already a senior political officer assigned to the Bureau.

Later when he had accidently fallen in with Blake, he had still only been Kerr Avon the computer genius, one of Blake's reluctant band of rebels. She knew his capabilities then, as she got to know the capabilities of all of Blake's crew, and she recognized that of all of the crew, he was the most valuable to Blake in his crusade.

For two years, after Blake was out of the picture, she and Avon had played a deadly game of cat and mouse with each other but in that game had also been a growing attraction. Almost a year after the incident on Sarran, during the Teal-Vandor convention, he had kissed her again. This time he had threatened to kill her and then pulled her to him roughly and kissed her before letting go and signalled for teleport back to the ship.

Now she had succeeded in harnessing that dangerous genius for her own purposes. Every time she looked into his eyes now, she saw the impotent hatred, the trapped and wounded animal.

* * *

Avon saw the tray which had been brought in while he was washing up. It looked good, but he didn't have much of an appetite.

Servalan headed to the vacated bathroom but seeing him staring at the food, not moving, she said "You should eat something."

"A last meal for a condemned man?"

"You sound like you're going to your death."

"Is there a difference?"

"The kitchens are very good here, you shouldn't waste the opportunity. I don't do this for everyone."

"You mean you usually kick your lovers out without feeding them?"

Servalan smiled at his words. "Suit yourself." She left him to his own devices as she went to take a shower. There was no danger in leaving him alone, all access points and technological devices in her bedroom were coded to her personally and alarms would be set off immediately if he tried to use anything she had not allowed him to.

* * *

When the Federation President returned to the bedroom, the food still lay untouched. Avon was standing in front of the holo-scape again looking over the city of Europa as it came to life.

_What fascination does that city hold for you?_

Servalan stood for a moment, studying him. In stillness, there was an air of quiet beauty about him, a hint of unfathomed depths and sheathed power. He was a man touched by a greatness few achieved but many strived for. After two years of torture and abuse, it was still there but there was also a sadness about him now, a weariness which went much deeper than any physical exhaustion.

Servalan turned her back towards him and poured two cups of coffee. Into one, she surreptitiously injected a liquid from the ring with the Presidential seal she always wore.

Carrying both cups, she went over to him.

"You'll appreciate this," she handed him a cup.

He took the proffered cup and took a sip of the hot liquid. "Real coffee. You must have a good supplier." He drank a few more mouthfuls.

Servalan said, "You don't need a good supplier, you just have to be Federation President. Here, give me your cup." He took one more mouthful of coffee and handed it to her; he staggered. She quickly put the cups down on the table.

"What's this?" Avon asked, his voice slurring. He reached out to steady himself and found her hands supporting him as he sank to his knees.

"Don't worry, it's just a strong sedative," she reassured him as he fell forward. She guided his head so that he would not hit it against the ground and helped him roll over. She checked his pupils, they were glazed over, this sedative was quick.

Servalan went over to the liquor cabinet and picked up the manacles which he had deposited there the night before. She knelt beside him and picked up one unresisting hand, she kissed it briefly before snapping one of the bracelets to his wrist.

"At least you will have some rest before it begins, that's all I can give you," she said as she snapped a bracelet to his other wrist. Servalan went to get ready for the day before calling for her personal guards to convey the unconscious man back to the Special Detention Centre.


	5. Chapter 5

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Five

Cally waived a bio-scanner over Argus's right shoulder. It was healing nicely now that he was sleeping. It was a serious wound but nothing the ship's medical facilities could not handle, as long as he allowed time for the healing pad to work.

_Stubborn. _

Argus was a difficult patient. He had obstinately refused to stay in the med-bay after Cally had applied a healing pad to the injured area.

"I've had much worse," he had said vehemently to her while she wrestled him back into bed, which wasn't that difficult considering the seriousness of his injury.

A tissue regenerator would have to be used later, Federation energy pistols tended to have a burn-like effect and left nasty scars.

Cally sat down next to him, she wanted to make sure he was really sleeping and did not sneak away when her back was turned, as he had done before. She did not want to apply a tranquilizer patch, she firmly believed that it was much better for the healing process if the rest was natural.

As she sat, Cally's thoughts naturally turned to the events of the last twenty-four hours.

_Why did you do it Avon?_

Of all of Blake's crew, Avon was the one she had found the easiest to relate with. Perhaps because he was as much an alien among the others as she was.

Aurons were naturally telepathic but the telepathic ability only had limited effect with non-Aurons, which was why she was pleasantly surprised when Avon was able to pick up her thought projections sometimes when he was not focused or preoccupied with something else. By the time they worked together to solve the mystery on the colonist ship Destiny, they had an easy rapport. Blake had noticed it early on, which was why he had accused them of collusion in his paranoia when the Federation activated Blake's latent mind trigger in order to control his actions.

When the others accused him of never caring about anyone else, Avon had remarked," I have never understood why it should be necessary to become irrational in order to prove that you care, or, indeed, why it should be necessary to prove it at all." The others did not understand what he was saying about himself but Cally did.

Cally had already come to respect his honesty and his stubborn refusal to live a pretence; even though she hated his lack of morality. He never hid what he was; she had found him much less devious than Blake. Avon was secretive, not because of deception, but because he had no natural desire to help anyone other than himself.

Avon never invited any form of closeness with anyone and Cally never pushed, but she did come to care about him. Which was why when an alien entity took her over and tried to hurt the others, she did nothing, but when it tried to hurt Avon, she fought back. She had been as surprised at her own reaction as the others, just as she was surprised to find out that Avon knew how she felt about him. It was this knowledge he had depended on when he goaded the alien being in order to force Cally to fight the possession by the entity.

And he had came to Terrus to rescue her, risking death and capture.

When they rescued him, it was clear that he had been a prisoner and had been badly mistreated. She had felt his sense of relief but when he returned to the ship, she had been aware of something else she could not place; something which was not quite right.

She knew that the others were very angry and she knew that none of them trusted him; she could not blame them. But they were not aware of what she had felt from him as he stood facing them with the energy pistol, that deep sense of damage.

The Federation. Servalan. They had trapped him on Terrus and then they had done this to him.

_Why did they do this?_

If their goal was to do what they had done on Terminal, to play with his reality in order to force him to give them ORAC and the new ship, then they had failed, just as they had failed then.

_Is that why you did it? Did they tried to condition you to do something you didn't want to do? And so you are running? Even from us? _

She knew that to try to convince the others of this, especially now, would be very difficult. If they went after him now, it would be to kill him. She would have to bide her time, find some way to try to convince them. She owed him that.

Cally had always had limited interaction with ORAC before, she preferred people, but ORAC may be a useful ally now.

_A machine as an ally, perhaps that is fitting, I will be helping Avon after all.

* * *

_

Argus, Jenna, Cally and Vila were seated around the conference area of the flight deck of the _Justice_. They all looked at each other in uncomfortable silence. It was supposed to be a planning session to decide what they were going to do next. No one really wanted to bring up the topic they all wanted to discuss; and none of them wanted to discuss anything else.

It had been almost four days since the rescue of the man they thought had been dead, and now most of them wish he were dead again.

It had been two days since Avon had shot Argus and disappeared onto the surface of Rygellus. Cally may be able to remove all scarring from Argus's healed energy pistol burn with the _Justice_'s advanced medical facilities, but she could not do anything about the emotional scars which Avon had left in his wake when he apparently abandoned them and was now possibly working for their enemy.

If Avon had been able to observe the last few days aboard the ship, he would realized that maybe he had done too good a job in alienating the crew; or that his reputation for self-interest and self-preservation were working too well. If the crew decided to look for him now, it would only be to kill him.

The only one who still believed that things may not have appeared to be, what they seemed, was Cally; but for now, she knew she had to keep her own counsel.

* * *

"ORAC, have you been able to find Avon yet?" Vila asked. The thief had asked for some time with the uncooperative computer to the surprise of the others. For some reason, each of the crew had requested time with ORAC recently, to the great annoyance of the busy computer.

"All attempts to locate Kerr Avon have failed."

"How is that possible?"

"Obviously, he has succeeded in wiping all electronic traces of his current location from the channels I have access to," said ORAC, it's tone indicating that it should have been so obvious that the person asking the question must be mentally impaired.

"That's very sneaky. Then how do you propose that we find him."

"When all electronic means have failed, then non-electronic means must be employed," again ORAC's tone indicated that it should have been obvious.

"I don't get it."

If ORAC had been capable of humour, an astute observer would have concluded that ORAC had just made a joke, at Vila's expense.

Of course, the real fact was that Avon was no longer able to make any kind of electronic impression himself. Plus the fact that once Avon had returned to Servalan, he had once again become a non-person. The Federation President made sure that her people removed all reference to his current existence.

That suited ORAC. The computer did note that although there were no references to Kerr Avon per se, there were references to prisoner A5428 in reports from the Federation Special Detention Centre and the Federation President's private office at Residence One.

* * *

"We can't sit around doing nothing," said Argus.

"Why not? I like sitting around doing nothing. It beats getting shot at," said Vila, _or being betrayed_.

"What do you propose?" Jenna asked.

Vila gave his companion a dirty look.

Cally remained silent, and observing. She had been doing that a lot lately, when she wasn't consulting with ORAC.

The _Justice_ had been moving aimlessly in a barren sector of space for a week now, while the crew tried to regain their bearings. All attempts by ORAC to locate Avon had failed and they were at a loss what to do.

Argus was getting restless, but under Jenna's advice he recognized that they all needed time to deal with what had happened. Sitting around doing nothing had never been his way but he was constantly reminded now that he was no longer a military commander; but seven days was more than enough for him. He decided that all of this waiting around, feeling sorry for themselves was not doing anyone any good, least of all themselves.

"We can't find Avon, or rather, ORAC can't seem to find any trace of him," Argus began. He secretly suspected that ORAC was lying to them, under Avon's orders. The analyst had most likely left instructions that ORAC was not to help the crew to locate him. ORAC was being very clever about providing reasons on why it could not locate Avon.

"I'm not about to waste my time when there are other more important things to do," he continued. "I have been having ORAC keep an eye on anything which the Federation may be showing an unusual interest in and I think it's found something. There appears to negotiations going on one of the mining planets out along the border in sector four. The Federation appears to be willing to pay a lot in order to obtain whatever is being mined there. The strange thing is that, ORAC cannot find any records on what exactly is being mined there."

"That is strange," said Jenna.

"It must be valuable," said Vila, his eyes suddenly bright with anticipation. Normally he would have been providing warnings about being anywhere near Federation interests, but the words 'mining' and the possibility of something glittering and lucrative was a combination which always proved too tempting for his thieving nature.

"What do you propose?" asked Cally. She was glad that the crew would now have something else to occupy their minds, other than their anger for Avon.

* * *

Avon returned to consciousness slowly, he was curled in a foetal position on the sleep platform in his cell, his arms wrapped protectively around his knees. What he could remember of the last few days was a confused jumble of pain and the constant roaring sound in his ears. His mouth was dry and he ached all over. His mind fought for clarity but it was like moving through a thick unrelenting fog.

He felt something pressed against his neck and the familiar sensation of an injection. The roaring gradually lessened; his mind slowly cleared. Every fibre of his being remembered a pain which was no longer present. He began to feel a faint energy infusing his body, an energy which was not his own. Insistent hands rolled him over and stretched him out until he was lying flat against the platform.

Avon didn't want to move but he had no choice. Movement aggravated an injured knee, he groaned. Someone lifted his eyelids, he raised his manacled hands to shield his eyes from the blinding light.

"So you are awake," the medtech said. The man helped him up to a sitting position against the wall. "Here drink this." He put a cup to Avon's parched lips, it was water. The analyst drank gratefully but then he started coughing, spilling some of the water. "Not so fast, slowly," the medtech told him. After a few more sips, the medtech took the cup away and then left the cell; the door slid closed behind him.

It was only then that Avon realized that someone was leaning casually against the far wall watching him, hands crossed over his chest.

It was a familiar face he hadn't seen in a long time.

"Welcome back Avon," said Sester.

"Your idea of a welcome leaves a lot to be desired." The analyst's own voice sounded strange to him. He wanted to go back to sleep but he knew Sester would not allow him that until he got what he was here for.

"I won't ask how you're feeling."

"That's disappointing."

The psychostrategist chuckled good naturedly and came over to sit down on the chair which had been placed there earlier.

"What do you remember of the last ten days?"

"Was there something worth remembering?"

As Avon began talking with the psychostrategist, and his mind pushed past what remained of the fog, memory began to return; memories of things he would have preferred to forget. There was the week of torture after being brought back from Residence One, which left one knee shattered; afterwards he had been given a full session in the nerve induction chamber which he was only just beginning to recover from, that must have been three days ago.

"She was extremely angry with you when you disappeared."

"I'm painfully aware of that."

"You're lucky it wasn't worse."

"It doesn't feel that way."

"She isn't finished with you yet; she still isn't satisfied."

"So that's why you're here?"

Sester smiled. "I'm here to assess whether we can put you back to work."

"She knows the controls work, I came back."

"We never had any doubts about that Avon."

"I can't control other people accidentally rescuing me."

"She doesn't believe that."

"And what do you believe?"

"Psychostrategists don't believe in accidents, only in lines of intersection."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I don't believe you either."

Avon laughed. "So it's check."

Sester smiled in acknowledgement. "You're playing a dangerous game Avon. Is it worth it?"

"Ask me when it's over."

"How many games are you playing?" the psychostrategist asked; he had missed these verbal sparring sessions.

"You're acting as if I'm the one with the control, not you."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You mean it wasn't rhetorical?"

"What did you tell Argus and the rest of the crew?" Sester asked.

"I did not break the agreement."

Sester's face never lost that pleasant casualness but there was an undercurrent of warning to everything he said.

"I know you didn't, but you and I both know that you did do something. I will find out what it is."

No direct threats; there never were with Sester. Just a statement of fact.

"What did you tell them about where you were going?"

"I told them that I was offered a deal that was worthy of my talents, and if they followed me, I would make them regret it."

"And they believed you?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"You've never tried to hide that have you? You've never done anything which didn't have some benefit to yourself; but you're a fraud Avon by doing that you saved their lives."

"You're mistaken, without the agreement no one else has any hold on me. Loyalty is overrated and sentimentality is for fools."

"Ever the romantic."

"Servalan doesn't need me as an excuse to kill them, and I understand she's been trying to do that without success."

"That's true, but you've effectively removed yourself as viable bait."

"Purely a by-product, she's using me enough already, I will not let her also use me as bait."

"We are going to make things much harder for you, I'm going to recommend that you be put back to work."

Avon nodded, things were out of his hands, the only thing he could do now was hang on and wait. He hoped that when the plans he put into place finally produced results, there would still be something left to rescue.


	6. Chapter 6

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Six

Mining planet C-812 was really a large asteroid, roughly the size of a small moon. It was part of an asteroid belt consisting of thousands of large and small asteroids spread over a large sector of space. C-812 was originally an established mine which had been running down after eight years of rich silver crystal deposits when a serendipitous event occurred. The miners called it the 'Happy Event'.

"It's just sounds strange to me," said Vila. "Whenever they talk about the 'Happy Event', it sounds like they're expecting a baby. And there's a big party going on down there, celebrating this 'Event'."

Argus had ORAC initiate contact with the miners, posing as potential buyers for a rich corporate client. Vila had insisted on going down as the head buyer.

"You may know all about guns and seventy two ways to kill someone with your little finger but you know nothing about jewels or valuable crystals," was his insistence. "You should send me down."

"It's only forty nine ways," said Argus without even a hint of a smile, "but you do have a point."

So Vila, dressing the part of a rich corporate buyer, which he enjoyed immensely, had gone down to meet the miners, with Argus as his assistant, which he also enjoyed immensely. Vila had to keep reminding Argus that he was there to help, and not to look intimidating. These miners were a tough and stubborn lot who did not react well to intimidation.

The crew was now gathered in the conference area of the flight deck, discussing what Vila and Argus had found out on their first foray down to the mining facility.

"Unfortunately we haven't found out anything about why the Federation is so interested in this mine. It can't be for the silver crystal deposits, although Vila says they are valuable," said Argus.

"That's putting it mildly," said Vila. He took a shiny silver crystal out of his pocket and held it up for them all to see. He proceeded to give them a lecture on the market value of silver crystals.

"But what does it do?" asked Cally.

"Do?" Vila was confused. "It's valuable and you can sell it for lots of credits."

"What is it's purpose?" she pressed.

"Actually, I'm not sure," Vila replied. "It's valuable, that's all I need to know. I don't care what people actually do with it."

"Vila, where did you get that crystal," asked Argus suspiciously.

"I borrowed it," said Vila with an innocent face.

"And when you're done with it, you do plan to give it back, right?"

"Only if they ask."

"Do they know you've borrowed it?"

"Not exactly."

"So if they don't know you borrowed it, then they won't ask you for it back, and you're not going to give it back to them?"

"I must be growing on you, you followed my logic," remarked Vila.

Argus scowled at him.

"Vila, can you see anything different about this crystal?" Jenna asked, trying to change the topic.

Vila held the crystal up to the light, and began examining it from all angles. He looked like he knew what he was doing. "It doesn't look different from any other silver crystal I've ever seen."

"Give it to ORAC to examine," said Cally. She was about to say that Avon had often used ORAC to examine the various objects they had encountered in their journeys but thought better of it. The less Avon's name was mentioned, the better, for now.

* * *

"The object is at it appears. It is a silver crystalline structure. It exhibits no unusual properties not associated with a normal silver crystal," ORAC reported.

"You see? I was right," said Vila, feeling vindicated.

"However," continued ORAC, "the sample appears to have been contaminated. There seems to be a film of powder fused into part of the crystal which does exert remarkable properties. These characteristics do not conform to any known substance I am currently aware of."

Vila lifted the crystal to the light again, trying to identify the powder ORAC was speaking about. They all leaned in to take a closer look.

"What remarkable properties are you referring to ORAC?" Argus asked.

"It appears to be able to absorb and magnify wave energy in the visual spectrum, to a degree which no current substance is capable of. You would be experiencing this effect as heat. This magnification increases exponentially as more wave energy is absorbed."

"I thought it felt warm," said Vila, "but I thought that was just because it was in my pocket. Although now that you're speaking of it, it is starting to get hot. Ow!"

Vila dropped the crystal to the ground. They all saw that part of the crystal seemed to be glowing and was getting brighter by the second.

Vila held out his hand and looked at it, they could all see a burn mark on his hand where it had touched the crystal. Cally immediately went to get the flight decks' emergency med kit and began treating the burn.

"ORAC! The crystal just burnt Vila. Is there a way to stop the heat from building?" Argus asked. "I assume it's going to keep building until it explodes?"

"Yes your assumption is correct. The crystal absorbs wave energy in the visual spectrum," instructed ORAC.

"Yes, I understand that, but how do we stop the heat from building?" Argus asked again.

"It is clear you do not understand, otherwise you would have followed my instructions," said ORAC.

"Instructions? ORAC, I'm not a physicist, explain it to me," said Argus.

"Put something on it."

Argus looked confused, but he took off his jacket and threw it over the crystal.

"I've done that ORAC. Now what?"

"The crisis has been averted," replied ORAC.

Argus asked, "ORAC, how does putting my jacket over the crystal solve the problem?"

"There is no longer any wave energy in the visual spectrum, under your jacket."

"ORAC means there is no light under your jacket Argus," explained Cally as she realized what ORAC had been trying to communicate. She was applying a dermal regenerator to Vila's burn.

"Wave energy in the visual spectrum," mused Jenna. "That means light?"

Cally nodded.

"I'm getting a headache," said Argus.

"Can I drop the headache out of the airlock now?" asked Vila helpfully.

"I might help you," Argus told him.

"This must be what the Federation is after," said Cally. "A substance like this could have all kinds of possibilities for the production of energy, and for weapons research."

"And I bet that the 'Happy Event' the miners are talking about, involved a spectacular explosion of some kind," said Jenna.

Loud explosions, Argus did understand.

"We have to stop the Federation from getting this," he told them.

"That's going to be difficult. I got the impression that they're somewhat happy that the Federation is going to make them rich beyond their wildest dreams," Vila informed them. _I wish someone would offer to make me rich beyond my wildest dreams_, thought the thief.

* * *

Avon sat in his cell, leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed, trying to rest. There were stabs of pain from his ruined right knee. The healing tanks had not been enough to heal it; a surgeon was required and they were not allowing that. It had been a calculated injury. He couldn't even straighten it out properly, which made sleeping and resting uncomfortable.

He knew his day was not finished yet, not when the guards put him in a seated position before they left. Exhaustion was a constant companion again, as was pain.

"Avon." His game-playing nemesis entered the cell.

"Don't you ever sleep?" Avon asked, not bothering to open his eyes.

"I worry about you."

"You think I'm going to escape again?"

"No. I need to know how much more you can take."

"Haven't you got it mapped out already?" There was a sharp cynical edge in his voice; he knew that it was Sester who was orchestrating his pain.

_You're not ready for her yet, she'll be disappointed_ Sester thought. _"_There are some things even I cannot plan, you're not exactly the most cooperative person."

"Sorry to spoil your plans," Avon said. "I'll try not to do better." His tone was flat and indicated nothing at all.

Sester smiled pleasantly. "Don't worry, we'll get there."

* * *

Avon's days passed in an increasing haze of pain and exhaustion, long days in the lab and regular sessions of torture directed by the psychostrategist taxed him to the limit. Gone were the days where he had the energy to plan anything, he was left with just enough to do what they wanted and nothing more, Sester made sure of that.

His body was a mass of bruises again but this time instead of being inflicted at the whim of the guards, they were caused intentionally by the Centre interrogators and deliberately left untreated. The worst was the constant pain from his knee which was punctuated by periodic stabbing pains. Any movement tended to aggravate it; long periods of inactivity also aggravated it.

The forced conversation sessions with Sester were draining. The verbal battles with a strong and dangerous opponent while he continually got weaker, was becoming increasingly more difficult.

The strain and exhaustion was beginning to affect his performance in the lab.

* * *

"Avon." The psychostrategist seemed to be making regular visits to his cell now.

There was no response, the analyst was not just leaning against the wall, he was more collapsed against it with his eyes closed. He had just come back from another torture session. In this one, his arms were secured to his sides and he had been hung upside down and partially lowered into a pool of water. Only being partially submerged meant that as long as he had the strength, he could keep his head out of the water long enough to take a breath; but as he weakened, no matter how much he struggled, he could no longer remove his head from the water, and he drowned. Then they would put him on the ground, revive him, and allow him a few minutes of rest before stringing him back up again. They varied the depths at which they lowered him into the water to increase or decrease the difficulty. If he refused to play their game and choose to just drown, they would lift him out before he lost consciousness and beat him with rods as he hung upside down.

It was a much crueller method than the standard drowning techniques used in other Detention Centres. It was an assault on his will to live. With a bio-sensor keeping track of his blood-oxygen levels, there was never any risk of brain damage.

Avon remembered telling Dayna once that he was not particularly fond of water sports. At this moment, he positively hated them. The only thing he wanted now was the oblivion of a drug-induced sleep.

"You're work is beginning to suffer, you know she won't like that."

Still no response.

"It's time to work Avon." _You're finally ready._

This was the second session in a row that the psychostrategist had to employ the implanted mind trigger to force the analyst to talk. In the previous session, the prisoner had answered in monosyllables until he was compelled to do better. Now it appeared that Avon had given up talking altogether.

The prisoner opened his eyes wearily and looked at Sester. He was very aware of the use of the trigger even though he could not hear it. He waited, beyond his control his mind began to race, he tried to focus his thoughts through the pain and exhaustion.

"You're going to have to talk to me sometime, you have no choice now."

Sester noted the increase in breath-rate and knew the conditioning was forcing the analyst to concentrate.

"You're going to have to do better Avon."

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

"You're a full time project."

"Is that what I am; it hardly seems worth your effort now." He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. "What kind of game are you playing now?"

"You underestimate yourself Avon. I play many games."

"And one of them involves avoiding my questions."

"You should know that game."

They looked at each other. The challenge was clear but Avon barely had enough to keep going under the pressure of the conditioning, he had nothing left with which to face a contest with Sester.

Avon looked away and closed his eyes again. "We all play games."

"She wants to see you tonight."

"Can't she sleep either or hasn't she finished playing her games?"

Sester did not answer him. "I will give you a couple of hours of sleep before you see her."

Sester released the mind trigger, "It's time to rest Avon."

The pressure eased as Avon's mind let him go. Servalan wanting to see him was never a good thing.

"Give him two hours then wake him up," Sester told the medtech who was waiting just outside the cell door.

"Is he going back to the lab?"

"No. He has an appointment tonight. Guards will come to pick him up."


	7. Chapter 7

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Seven

Avon sat on a chair in a dimly lit room, he was restrained with his hands behind him to the chair; it was Servalan's private office at Residence One. The Federation President was not present and he was alone. _What is she up to now_?

Back in his cell, he had just been administered a counter-agent to the sedative when the black-hooded presidential guards entered his cell. Groggy and still exhausted after only two hours of rest, he had been conveyed to Residence One and entered via the secret underground passage. The guards had brought him to Servalan's empty office, restrained him to the chair and left; but not before turning out the lights.

In the near dark, the mind he could no longer control, began playing tricks on him. He knew there was an approaching madness he could not prevent.

He remembered the last time he was here and what he had done. He had resolved never to give her that satisfaction again. With what they had subjected him to in the past two months, he had doubted that there was anything else she could threaten him with which would force him to give in to her demands again.

Except this.

They had not used his mind against him in this way in along time, not since Gauda Prime, not since they had partially broken him there.

He had to admit that. At Gauda Prime, they had crushed him to the point where he had accepted a compromise, had chosen to give in rather than to face the nightmares again. They had always had this as their ultimate weapon against him.

Torture he could face, had proven he could face for over a year; the worst that the Centre's specialists could subject him to; drugs, physical torture, psych treatments, induced visions, everything in their arsenal of torture and control. He had endured it all.

But the nightmares… The man whom most people did not think possessed a soul, discovered the destruction of it was killing him in a way the none of the other tortures had been able to.

_It's not a matter of revenge, it's a matter of getting what I want._ Servalan had said that to him.

_And what do you want this time Servalan_ he thought to himself. From his vantage point, seated a distance in front of her desk, he could see something familiar, ORAC's activation key.

_No_, he thought, _they could not be after ORAC, not without break the agreement_. Was it an accident they had seated him here in front of the activation key or could they have guessed? Even though he could not see them, he knew there had to be security cameras somewhere, watching him. It would not make sense that they would leave him completely unobserved.

_I know that you did do something and I will find out what it is._ The psychostrategist's voice reminded him.

_Has Sester guessed? Or are they manipulating my mind in order to find out the truth?_ He couldn't allow that to happen but once focussed, his mind began preying on these thoughts.

* * *

Avon continued trying to fight the nightmares but it was no good; he had never been able to fight them before and now was no different. He was sweating from the effort; he was breathing as if he was running a desperate race.

"No!" _It's not real, h_e told himself.

ORAC would find the antidote, he had to believe that. He did not believe in human beings but he did believe in the implacability of computers to achieve their directives; his directives, even ORAC. His mind could not make him doubt that but regardless of whether it was ORAC or the ASP which found the antidote first, he still needed the crew in order to escape, and it had always been the human element which let him down.

_You've made a deal, haven't you? Argus accused him as he lay on the ground bleeding after Avon shot him. I knew you couldn't be trusted. _

_Avon the Betrayer. Vila had accused him, on his face was hurt, anger, disappointment, hatred, eyes full of burning hatred; Avon could feel it like a fire burning him alive. He tried to run but he couldn't move, he tried to scream but he couldn't make a sound._

_Why are you doing this? I thought you had changed Cally had said. The only one left who understood him, did not understand. Are you a lost cause Avon? Her soft voice cut him like a knife._

_I am no one's cause thought Avon. There was a tearing loneliness inside him, a painful emptiness he had never allowed anyone to fill; no one except Anna, the woman who had then turned on him and cut out his heart. Pain. He looked down at his chest; he could see the knife she had stabbed him with. It was twisting around and around. _

He moaned in pain.

_They were not coming for him; none of them would come for him. He had made a serious mistake; he would be trapped here forever, never able to escape the ghosts._

_Run Avon! There's nowhere you can hide from us. We're not coming to rescue you, we're coming to kill you. Argus, Vila, Jenna, and Cally chased him with guns lifted to fire._

"No!" he shouted into the empty room but the emptiness would not leave him alone.

A light turned on suddenly, bright and insistent, chasing away the apparitions of his mind. His mind relaxed.

"Who turned the lights off?" Servalan sounded mildly annoyed, as if commenting on a breach of etiquette. "That was bad manners. I'm terribly sorry." She had entered from the door behind him and now stood beside his chair. He looked at her expressionlessly; the exhaustion was clearly etched on his face as was the strain from the last few hours, he was still breathing heavily.

"Do you know why you're here?" Servalan asked him.

"You haven't filled your quota of people to torture?"

She laughed and caressed his face. "I missed you, specifically I missed your talents. You should be flattered."

He knew he could not afford another session like this in her office, not even if it was by accident. He had not given anything away yet but he knew it was only a matter of time. Eventually the mind he could no longer control, would betray him. He could not risk giving them any indication that he had found a loophole in their agreement; could not give her any reason to keep him here, in the dark.

"I am giving you a choice, you can give me what I want tonight or you can stay here alone, until tomorrow."

"I don't suppose there's a third option."

"I could keep you here for two days."

He had no choice, his head bowed in resignation. "Release me."

He could feel her removing his restraints from the chair, and then came around in front of him and re-attached them to his wrists. Servalan took his elbow and helped him up; he grimaced at the shooting pains from his knee, every movement caused fresh agonies. Standing unsteadily, holding onto her for support, he put his arms around her as far as the chains allowed and kissed her.

As they embraced, Servalan felt both his passion and the anger which always lay beneath, as well as his reluctant willingness to give her what she wanted, at least what he thought she wanted. After a few moments, she pushed him away and put her finger on his lips. "That's a good start."

She knew that the last time she had put him in this position, despite his hatred of her, there had still been an unmistakable element of intense physical pleasure, even for him. _It will be very different this time_ she thought.

"Let's go upstairs where it's more comfortable."

_You mean comfortable for you,_ Avon thought. She took a few steps back and waited. He looked at her. "_So that's how it's going to be._

He was tired of playing her games but for now, he had no choice. _Let her believe what she wants, that I am willing to do this because I can't face the nightmares. She can never find out the true reason._

He took a tentative step forward, he gritted his teeth at the agony that came from his injured knee.

_You will have your fun tonight but one day I will kill you with my own hands_.

Another step forward, his knee almost buckled from the pain.

_You had better come through ORAC._

Another step, he stumbled and fell, the sensation was like hundreds of tiny daggers moving inside the knee. He tried to get up but his knee would not cooperate.

"How clumsy you are," Servalan said as she helped him up. She spoke to him like a mother speaking to an awkward child.

He stood unsteadily on his feet, holding onto her.

"Come Avon." She led the way forward slowly.

* * *

By the time they finally made it upstairs, the pain was excruciating and he was breathing heavily. She lowered him down so that he could sit on the edge of the bed. He bent over with his eyes closed, trying to control the pain.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked.

"Some arsenic?" he asked with a strained voice.

She chuckled. "Sorry none of that, how about your favourite drink? I obtained another supply since you finished my last bottle."

"So this is revenge for drinking your best brandy?" he asked as she went to pour them both drinks.

She laughed and did not answer him, she brought the drinks over. He was still partially bent over, it was clear that the pain had not gone away; the Centre interrogators were very good at their job as were the medical division. Servalan handed him the glass but he did not take it, he remembered the last time she had handed him a drink, it had been drugged.

"Don't worry, I would never spoil good alcohol; coffee maybe, never the brandy."

He straightened up, took the glass and drank it without another word; there was a familiar warmth, it helped with the pain. She took the glass when he was finished, put it beside hers on the night table and sat down beside him. She traced his lips with her fingers. "Now where were we?"

With his knee still in agony, he kissed her again: hatred, passion, pain and exhaustion, blending together.

That night he met her demands of him until he had nothing left to give. It was not difficult considering he was always kept weakened by the Centre drugs and was perpetually in various stages of healing from injuries designed to physically incapacitate him and to maintain a constant level of pain.

In addition, Sester had made sure that Avon was not brought to Servalan until he was at the point of near collapse.

* * *

Two hours later Avon was gasping for breath, he was in agony. Servalan had her arms around him, not allowing him to pull away from her.

It seemed months ago that they had first spent the night together; then, in order to do what Servalan wanted of him, he had allowed the passion to overcome his hatred. This time, he had used the passion to fight the pain; focusing his mind and his body on his desire for her in order to block out the agony.

He should have known that forcing him to sleep with her was not enough for Servalan; she had to humiliate and control him. Her pleasure when causing him pain was even greater than any other physical enjoyment she could derive from him; and having both together must have been intoxicating for her.

He did not want to be reduced to this but he had no choice; it was either this or run the risk the of having them finding out about ORAC.

The bruises and the barely healed ribs from the interrogation sessions were little more than mild annoyances compared to the pain from his knee, every movement now was unbearable.

Servalan stroked her hand across his bare chest and caressed him gently as he struggled with the pain. She had pushed him as far as he could go and he had given her great pleasure but she knew it had been torture for him.

It had been planned that way. The inflicting of the injuries had been very deliberate, the reason was to reinforce that serving her in this way, as a punishment, was only meant as pleasure for her, that had been at Sester's insistence; so she had pushed her captive until there was nothing left but the pain.

She leaned forward and kissed him, he responded; Servalan was pleased. Tonight, at the height of her own passion, she could almost feel his pain and suffering, it had been exhilarating, even more enjoyable than their first night together. In a way it reflected her relationship with him over the years; she both desired him and wanted to destroy him.

Avon's body stiffened as fresh stabs of pain came from his knee. He moaned and gripped her arm for support; she held him until it was over. It was a rare act of kindness in almost two years of abuse and torment. It was an unfamiliar gentleness, something he had not experienced since Anna.

Anna….the woman who betrayed him and had torn out what little there was of his heart. Treacherous, dangerous Anna. His enemy; his lover and Servalan, who left no kindness unpunished and wanted to use and control him.

With his mind full of these thoughts, he tried to push Servalan's arm away from him, tried to free himself from her. He only succeeded in aggravating his knee; more piercing hot daggers. He groaned as he fought against her hold, but with the weakness and the pain, she easily overpowered him.

"Stop fighting me Avon, you're hurting yourself." He stopped, his struggle must have aggravated one of his broken ribs, he was breathing in short agonized gasps.

"Why must you always make it hard for yourself?"

There was no answer, only the pained laboured breathing. Servalan was still holding him.

"Talk to me Avon."

He was so tired. The constant pain sapped what little strength remained but he had no choice, he tried to focus, tried to answer her; he did not want to go back to the darkness.

Without warning, she had reached down between them and pressed down on his injured knee, his body stiffened in pain. She held him and pushed harder, he cried out involuntarily. The sensation of daggers in his knee seemed to pierce directly into his brain.

"Stop," he told her in a weak voice.

She continued pressing.

"Stop!"

She did not stop.

He tried to move away from her but she was still holding him with her other arm. She pushed down harder.

"Stop," a strangled shout stifled by a cry of pain.

The pressure stopped but her hand stayed touching his knee.

"Are you going to talk to me now?"

"Yes."

"If you had said that earlier, you would have saved yourself some pain."

"Only some?" he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

She smiled.

"You made me very angry when you disappeared; but you've pleased me tonight, so your punishment for that is over."

He looked at her, waiting, he knew that she wasn't finished. She was like a beautiful snake, poised to strike but only taking small bites at a time, cruelly delaying the final strike because it amused her.

She continued, "Unfortunately the treatments will continue. I know that you did not break our agreement, but I know you Avon, I know that you did something in the two days you disappeared; you put something into action, something you won't tell us. I am setting Sester to find out what it is, and until you reveal it to us, your suffering will not end, it will only get worse."

There was nothing he could say.

"You may sleep now Avon."

Servalan released her hold on him and depressed a button in her nightstand, a drawer slid open. She reached inside and took out a bio-injector which she had obtained from the Detention Centre, it was already set to the mix of sedatives and drugs normally used on him. She injected the contents into his neck. Placing an arm across his chest again, she held him as the drugs took effect and he slept.

She regarded him with fondness as she watched him sleeping, it had been a very good night. He had still been able to give her great pleasure despite the pain; she had not thought it possible but this was one of his remarkable talents which was now at her disposal.

She had many conflicting feelings for the man beside her. She enjoyed the feel of his body as she caressed him. A part of her derived great enjoyment from hurting him but another part ached with him when he was in pain; a part which did not serve her purposes.

These past two years of controlling, torturing and using him had been immensely satisfying. The ability to be able to visit him whenever she wanted, even if it had only been to hurt him, had fulfilled a need in her that she was afraid to admit to anyone else.

_One day I am going to have to kill you _she thought.


	8. Chapter 8

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Eight

Psychostrategist Sester sat across the Federation President as they ate a late lunch in the beautiful gardens of Residence One. A still sleeping Avon had been returned to the Special Detention Centre by her guards an hour before. It had been a long night and she should be tired but she couldn't sleep. She had requested Sester's presence.

Servalan's mood was light as they conversed.

_This is a different side of you. No one else could have this effect on you, _Sester noted.

"So it went well?" he asked more as a courtesy.

He was pleased, his psych-strategy for Avon was progressing as planned.

"Did you ever have any doubts?"

He smiled. "His hatred for you must be even stronger than ever."

"I don't know who he hates more now, me or himself."

"Professor Tarkson was right about the progression of the compromises."

"Don't be modest. You're the one orchestrating the progressions."

"Psychostrategists are never modest about our own genius, Madame President but we do give credit where credit is due."

"This set of progressions was very good." There was a hint of a smile on her lips as she said this.

Sester reflected that she looked radiant in her white robe, as beautiful as the most beautiful flowers in the garden. She was a striking woman; a woman of uncommon character and power; a high-end alpha like himself, and like Avon.

"I thought you would enjoy it."

"But be careful Sester, I will not become a pawn in your psych-strategy."

"That was the farthest thing from my mind, Madame President."

_And how will our game end Servalan?_ Relationships between alphas were often complex games, and as enjoyably compelling as they were dangerous.

"Apart from wanting him to know that this is meant to be a punishment," _and giving me great satisfaction_, she reflected, "what is the purpose of the pain?"

Psychostrategists were not used to having to explain themselves, but with the President of the Federated Worlds, and because she was Servalan, he would make an exception.

"There is a two-fold purpose, one is to advance the degree of compromise he is willing to make, the other is to expand the scope of the conditioning. We want to make pleasing you this way an integral part of it."

"Which is why I agreed to do this in the first place."

"He was filled with conditioning drugs before he was delivered to you but the actual conditioning, he has been doing to himself, and he doesn't even realize it."

"How is that possible?"

"It's quite fascinating. One aspect of conditioning is about opening up pathways in the brain and setting precedence of behaviours. In order to do what you wanted, Avon had to find a way to bypass his own natural hatred and barriers and access that part of himself which enabled him to react physically to you. Adding pain to the mix not only meant that he had to overcome his hatred, but he had to put pleasing you and reacting to you physically, above his own imperative to fight the pain."

Sester added to himself, _In order to do that he was forced to access that passion you both appear have for each other; that was the only way to overcome his hatred and that was the part which he must have hated the most; it was the most insidious part of the conditioning._

"Very well. I will leave it to your discretion. You are very devious Sester."

_Are you referring to my strategy for Avon? Or for you? I was right about your obsession with each other, otherwise this progression would never have worked._

"Are you trying to flirt with me now Madame President?"

"You may call me Servalan when we're alone."

"Servalan." He said, nodding in acknowledgement of the privilege being extended.

_Threat and privilege. All in the same conversation. You are a dangerous woman._ Dangerous women were never boring.

"I think I prefer calling you Madame President."

"Are you refusing a direct order?" she smiled.

He smiled in return, "Well, if you put it that way."

_Life would be much less interesting without you and Avon_.

* * *

Avon was returned to his normal schedule of work and torture. When he reached the edge again, when the treatments threatened to compromise his work, he would be brought to her again at Residence One for punishment; but he continued to refuse to tell them what they wanted.

* * *

The _Justice_ crew were frustrated. All attempts at trying to convince the miners that selling their 'dust' to the Federation was not a good idea had failed, and had only resulted in Vila and Argus being banned from ever going down to the mining facility again.

They were all sitting in the conference area on the flight deck again, discussing their failed strategies.

"Maybe we're just not cut out for this," said the thief.

"What do you mean Vila?" asked Cally.

"I mean, we didn't have any success fixing the Athol problem either. Look where they are at now, in a nice little civil war. There's nothing we can do to convince these miners to part with the millions the Federation is promising them."

Vila could definitely empathize with them. He wouldn't want to part with millions either.

"Assuming the Federation lets them keep it," said Jenna. She was looking thoughtful. "What if the Federation doesn't?"

"We don't know that," said Argus, "but I wouldn't be surprised."

"I mean, what if we 'convince' them that the Federation is going to double-cross them? And that they're going to take it by force?"

"The miners don't react well to intimidation," said Argus, remembering what Vila had said.

"How do you feel about a little deception and intimidation?" asked Jenna.

* * *

"He's very stubborn," Sester remarked to Servalan as they watched Avon working in the lab on the monitor in her office at the Terran Presidential headquarters.

"Yes, he is," she agreed.

"I know you're enjoying yourself but you've got to stop accelerating the treatments so that he can be brought to you earlier. If you destroy his spirit he will be of no use to you."

"I know, but he is very good."

"Yes, he is exceptional at everything he puts his mind to, that's why he's so valuable. Of course, it's your choice."

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?"

"Psychostrategists are too detached for such things as jealousy. It's merely an observation."

_Besides I don't think I would survive the kind of attention he gets from you,_ he thought.

"I will think about it," she told him. Servalan had never allowed her pleasures to interfere with the acquisition of power. Sester was right, playing with Avon had become a distraction, she had to regain her focus. "You're still insisting on the two hours of isolation in my office. Do you still think it's necessary?"

"To do what you what him to do? No. You've had that control over him since he made the compromise when he came back."

"Then it must have to do with extracting the information we want from him. Have you learned anything useful?"

"Yes. It was clear from the reaction of the Argus crew that something happened when Avon was onboard. Other than at the beginning, they have made no attempts at trying to find him at all. Either Avon was telling the truth, and they believed that he had accepted a better offer and wanted to be rid of them, or there is a much deeper plot involved."

"Of course, we expected the latter."

"Naturally."

"It has been two months and there has been no connection between the activities of the crew and Avon. That alone would point to his telling us the truth, except for one thing, that is his reaction to being isolated in your office. It is clear that there is something he is desperate for us not to know and it is causing a very specific set of nightmares. I suspect that it is these nightmares which forced him to make this latest compromise, and which is making him so compliant now. Fortunately for us, he cannot control the nightmares but he has developed some control over his reactions to them."

"I did not think that was possible, the criminotherapists assured me that he does not have that kind of control."

"Technically he shouldn't, but he's Avon, he pushes the boundaries of what is possible. It's quite impressive. That is why we cannot determine what is triggering the nightmares or what it is he is trying to hide from us, but with each session, I am getting more pieces of the puzzle. No matter how good he is, in the end, he will not be able to prevent me from finding out what he is trying to conceal."

"And if you're wrong? And we're just torturing him for nothing?"

"You don't believe that; and psychostrategists are rarely wrong if we're given all the information we require to do our jobs. Besides, you love torturing him."

She smiled. "That I do. You have everything you need to know."

_I highly doubt that, it's not in your nature to give out information unless you have to. _

"Do you think that you can force him to tell us?"

"No. That's not why we're doing this. The plan is to keep him off-balance and continue to break down his barriers so that the nightmares will intensify until they reach the stage where they will betray him. It's a delicate balance, we don't want to push him so hard that he becomes useless to you."

"I don't know about that, he has many other uses but you're right, for now his genius is much more valuable to me, I will ease up on the pressure."

"Is that what they call it these days?"

"I do believe you're jealous."

* * *

Jenna's plan had worked beautifully, with ORAC's help. The miners were currently embroiled in a major conflict with the Federation negotiators, who were increasingly perplexed. They did not understand how things could have gone so wrong in such a short period of time when up until now, everything had seemed to be progressing smoothly. Nothing they could do or say seemed to be able to convince the miners' of their sincerity.

The _Justice_ crew had been watching from the sidelines with great amusement as Jenna's strategy of sowing mistrust and discord caused great headaches for the Federation negotiating team. After Argus and Vila had been banned from the facility, the crew had moved the ship off to a safe distance away from the asteroid, and were currently hiding behind another large asteroid nearby. They were ready in case, a little more 'encouragement' of the situation was required.

* * *

The Federation President was not pleased. Communiques from the Terran Administration had indicated her severe disapproval. She was close to authorizing a team from the Cooperation Project, to 'help' out at the mining facility.

* * *

Forty hours and there was no indication that his minders were going to allow him to rest. The work hours had been increasing steadily. Each work session usually ended with a visit to one of the interrogation rooms. The frequency meant that the normal four hours of rest he was allowed was only enough to recover from the torture. They were progressively wearing him down and when his resistance was at it's weakest, he would be brought to her. By now he recognized the cycles, this was the fifth one. They had intensified the treatments in the last two cycles so that he was worn down faster.

Even though he hated it, being used to satisfy her desires was not what he dreaded the most. It was the two hours before that which he feared; when he was secured to a chair in Servalan's private office and left in isolation and darkness while the nightmares preyed on his mind, nightmares which threatened to reveal the secret he was so desperate to keep from them. He did not know the purpose of the isolation, whether they thought they needed it to ensure his compliance to her demands, or whether it was part of Sester's plan to find out what he did in the hours onboard the _Justice_. Regardless, it was serving an unwelcome purpose. When she came to release him, it was a relief.

Avon began entering the calculations for a new simulation. It was an interesting problem. They were using his expertise in setting up new security protocols for the Federated Banking System in order to prevent a new type of hacker. It was ironic that he was using his skills to make secure the system he first attracted Central Security's attention breaking into. Servalan must have found it amusing.

The level of difficulty of the tasks he was assigned would have defeated anyone with a lesser ability. He suspected that she was giving him all the projects which had been deemed impossible, or which had reached dead ends, or ones like the phase-TD engine which were progressing too slowly; just as he had been assigned to the Matter Transmission project many years ago before he became a fugitive. These were the kinds of challenges he excelled at and if he had been given a choice, he would have enjoyed them.

But for him now, the work was only a refuge from torture and abuse. As long as he didn't stop long enough for the conditioning to make it uncomfortable, and as long as he was making progress, they generally left him alone until the cycle required that the treatments intensify.

The only pain he experienced when he was working was from the half-healed injuries, the stress-tensions from his back, and most of all from the wrecked knee which they still left it unhealed.

The cruelty of the guards and the minders was also stepped up as he became progressively weaker and could no longer follow their orders quickly enough or his work began to suffer due to the treatments. If he was a person who cared about things like kindness or cruelty it would have worn him down further, which was their purpose in doing it, but it only served to tell him how far into the cycle of treatments he was and when he could expect a visit from Sester. From his own current physical and mental condition, he knew it would be soon. He was already starting to lose concentration, it did not help that he had not been fed in three days.

He was tired. Tired of being forced to fight when he had no chance of winning; tired of the torture, the abuse, and the mindless cruelty; tired of the constant pain and exhaustion; tired of never having time for himself; tired of being used to further other peoples' interests; tired of being used to provide amusement; tired of being used by her.

He shook his head, it must be the depression talking again.

"Why have you stopped?" one of his minders asked.

Avon started, one of the symptoms that he was nearing the end was his mind wandering.

"I was just thinking."

"It better have been about the work."

"Of course, what else would it have been about."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care what you believe."

"I would if I were you, or it could be very painful for you."

"This is getting tedious. You're going to send me to the interrogators regardless of what I do, so let's not pretend."

"Get up," the minder said angrily.

Avon got up slowly, trying not to aggravate his knee.

Provoking the guards and the minders was one of the few things left he could control. Even though he knew he would pay for it, he needed to do it. For a man who had always been in control, to have that control taken away, was demoralizing.

_Are you trying to get them to kill you?_ That would have been Cally's question if she had been there.

At least, she's still safe. That much was also in his control and when his enemies finally allowed him to die, she would never know what he had done for her, that was the way he wanted it.

Had he known that Servalan's purpose was to capture him in order to use his mind to further her own goals, he would never have made the agreement to save her life. It was too late now, the agreement was made; and as Servalan had known, he was a man of his word.

Avon stood unsteadily, holding onto the desk for support. The minder removed the chair he had been sitting on.

"That should help you to stop thinking about something else. Now get back to work."

_Well that was creative._ With difficulty, he did as instructed.


	9. Chapter 9

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Nine

Avon had just been brought back to his cell after a full session in one of the interrogation rooms. He was curled on the platform, with his back facing the cell door. Almost every inch of him was bruised and there were several additional breaks which were now healing. He closed his eyes and tried not to move, unfortunately breathing was considered a movement.

They normally did not subject him to more than four hours while he was still in a work cycle, but he had made the mistake of provoking one of the interrogators and they had decided to teach him a lesson. When they were angry with him, they preferred using physical torture. It was much more personal for the torturers.

He wished he could find other less painful forms of defiance, but there wasn't anything they left him with which didn't result in pain of some kind.

Avon heard the cell door slide open, someone walked in and sat down on the chair next to the sleep platform. He didn't even have to guess who it was. He turned slowly and painfully to face the psychostrategist.

"Avon."

"She must be bored again."

Sester smiled. "I'm sorry about the interrogation session, the interrogators are under orders never to give you more than four when you're working."

"How thoughtful."

"Are you ready to talk to me now?" the psychostrategist asked.

It was always the same question, and he always gave the same answer.

"I did not break the agreement."

Sester sighed. "You're a stubborn man Avon. I'm going to send you to her without any rest this time, she's not going to be happy with you."

The strategist got up and signalled for the guards.

* * *

Servalan was angry, she was in her bedroom in Residence One waiting for Avon who was finishing off the two hours of isolation in her office below. The last few days had been particularly frustrating and it had culminated in a disaster this morning. The Federation had been poised to take over a mine rich in a new energy crystal which had raised interesting possibilities in the area of weapons research, but the foolish miners had proven extremely stubborn, even more stubborn than normal for miners. They had threatened to blow up the crystal supply and themselves rather than allow the Federation to get it's hands on the resource.

Reports were that they had done just that this morning. Servalan was furious. The new weapons research would have been very beneficial to the Federation, not to mention personally lucrative to herself.

Negotiations had been going extremely well for months when for no apparent reason, the miners had become stubborn. Servalan had authorized the use of the techno-virus on the miners in order to regain their cooperation. But instead of cooperating, they had destroyed themselves and the mine. The Federation President did not like being denied. She had not even had the satisfaction of ordering that they be destroyed for defying the Federation.

Servalan was always the model of icy self-control. Nothing ever rattled her polite façade even when she was plotting the most heinous revenge but it meant that she had a lot of pent up anger and she still needed to take it out on someone and unfortunately for Avon, Sester had informed her that he was now ready for her.

_It's going to be a very bad night for you Avon.

* * *

_

The state he was in did not please her but she understood Sester's reason for doing this; Avon was still not cooperating and things were being escalated. The psychostrategist wanted things to be even harder for the analyst than it normally was with her.

As usual she used him until he had nothing left, but tonight, when he reached that point, she injected him with a mild stimulant and forced him to continue. By the fourth time, the injection was no longer enough, he was shaking from pain and the overtaxing of his body, but she was merciless.

"You will have to do better than that." She held him, refusing to let him move away.

He rested against her, trying to regain his strength, his breathing was laboured. His jaw clenched as he struggled with the pain.

She traced along one of his ribs with her fingers, found what she wanted and without warning pushed hard against him, the rib cracked, it was one of the ones which was barely healed from his last beating session from the interrogators. He cried out in pain.

"Try harder," she demanded.

He tried, but with the addition of the newly broken rib, it was even more impossible; she knew that. Servalan found another barely healed fracture and broke another one.

This was what she had been waiting for; using him for physical pleasure was enjoyable, and pushing him when he had nothing left to give was cruel but did not satisfy her anger. She needed someone to suffer, she needed to hurt someone badly; what was required was a target for her anger and frustration.

"I think you need a lesson," she remarked.

_I think Ive had enough of lessons today, _Avon thought as she released him and sat up. He closed his eyes and tried to rest, it was obvious she was not done with him yet.

Servalan took a different bio-injector from the drawer in her night table, this one contained a special cocktail of stims and other drugs used by the Centre interrogators. She gave him a large dose; energy flooded into his system.

Servalan took another tool from the drawer, this one was also from the Centre, it was a sonic manipulator. The interrogators had used this tool to cause the original injury to his knee and to torture him with it.

She put one hand against his chest to hold him still, with the other she reached down and touched the manipulator tool to his injured knee. She switched it on, Avon arched in pain and cried out as he felt the already damaged ligaments tear. Grabbing the hand holding him down, he tried to free himself, and he tried to move his knee away. While he did this, she turned the manipulator off, but continued to hold him down.

Because of the current level of injury the attempt to move his knee only resulted in more pain, and no movement; and his attempts to free himself from her were useless, he did not have the strength. After allowing him a few moments of ineffective struggle, she took hold of his wrists and held him down until he stopped fighting her. When he stopped, she applied the manipulator waves again. This caused a cry of agony and an automatic reaction to get away from the pain. As before, while he fought, she turned off the manipulator, then after a few moments, she would overwhelm him until he stopped struggling. Then it would start all over again. It was a vicious cycle.

Servalan took great pleasure in holding him down, and feeling him struggle against her, only to fail. After an hour of this, he was breathing heavily and was totally exhausted. She was enjoying herself immensely.

She applied the tearing pain again, Avon cried out in agony. He now lay unresisting as she held him still and continued to torture him, causing greater and greater damage. His moans of pain filled the room. With her hand over his chest she could feel the rapid beating of his heart; it told her when she needed to back off before he passed out.

Before they started, she had activated the noise dampener normally used for secure private conferences, else everyone in the Residence would have heard him.

In previous sessions, when torturing him, she had only caused pain, never additional damage. By the end, a lot of injury had been done. With one final application, she finally allowed him to lapse into unconsciousness. She removed her hand from his chest and touched his face gently, he was dripping with sweat. She contemplated him fondly as she caressed the body which had given her pleasure on so many levels. She was satisfied, her anger had passed; he had served his purpose.

She put the manipulator down and gave him a mild stim to wake him up. He moaned as the pain intruded into his consciousness, he started retching.

"Not on the bed," she told him and rolled him over. He cried out as the movement caused more pain. She held his head over the edge of the bed until the heaving stopped, but nothing came out. She let him lie back down.

"They must not be feeding you again." She sounded annoyed. "I do hate having to tell people things twice. But you did well tonight and I'm in a generous mood, I will speak to them again to feed you when you're working."

She felt his knee gently, examining the damage. He stiffened at her touch.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you, unless you don't cooperate."

The knee had swollen to twice it's normal size. He would have to be given time in the healing tanks, but not too much. Keeping his knee damaged was proving very useful.

She traced the broken ribs, they would make breathing painful but had not punctured the lungs; they could be left untreated. After the examination, she filled a glass of water from a pitcher on the nightstand.

"You need to replenish your fluids." She held the glass to his lips.

Until she had mentioned it, he had not realized how thirsty he was. Thirst was a condition he had learned to ignore at the Detention Centre, along with hunger and cold.

He tried to raise his head to the glass, a sharp pain from his ribs reminded him of the additional injuries. He started coughing violently and this in turn aggravated his knee, causing him to moan in pain.

Servalan put the glass down and put a hand against his chest, "You need to relax Avon."

He continued to cough and moan.

"Avon you have to focus and stop coughing, you're going to cause damage if you continue. Don't make me hurt you."

He tried hard to concentrate, to control the coughing but it was no good, he had nothing left.

Servalan saw his effort and his failure. She knew she had hurt him badly, both with the torture and from the use of him earlier. What she wanted had already been achieved, Sester's goal to escalate things had also been reached, nothing else could be gained from torturing him further tonight. She picked up the bio-injector, changed the setting to his normal sedative mix and applied a strong dose it to the side of his neck. As the drug took effect, Avon finally stopped coughing and slept.


	10. Chapter 10

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Ten

"You must have had quite the night Madame President," Sester remarked as they spoke in her official office during a break between her meetings.

"It was mildly interesting. Why do you say that?"

"I have the report from the doctor," he replied. "That's why I'm here."

_You're relaxed and brimming with confidence today. Even more than usual, and you're very pleased with yourself, _Sester thought as he studied her.

"How is he doing?"

"He's back in the lab but he's not doing very well. You destroyed what was left of his knee, the pain is making it impossible for him to work. I have told the guards and his minders to ease up on him. The surgeon reports that he will never be able to walk on it again, unless the whole thing is replaced. He made a suggestion, which I want to run by you."

"Yes?"

"The damage to his knee is useful but not in the state it is in now. The surgeon wants to give him a replacement and embed a device which will cause the same pain and physical sensations as a real injury. It will also allow us to be able to control the frequency and kind of pain he experiences using an external control. He would never be able to tell that there is no real damage. It's a new device the medical division has been working on."

"They want to use him as a test subject?"

"No. It has already been tested. They thought it would serve our purposes better than a real injury. It's a much more flexible tool, and with it you don't have to be concerned about the damage causing further health issues."

"Very well, tell them to prepare it, but I want to speak to him first."

* * *

"Avon."

Avon opened his eyes slowly, the last thing he remembered was being in his cell after the medtech had given him his sedative, now he was restrained to a chair in one of the interrogation rooms. He was getting very tired of having no control over his own life.

"Servalan."

He had been expecting some unwelcomed attention since his performance, or lack of it, in the lab the last two sessions. When nothing had happened and he had been returned to his cell for his rest period, he was puzzled; but now it made sense, they had been waiting for her.

His knee was in constant agony now and he was no longer able to stand unaided. The attacks of stabbing pain had been getting worse and more frequent since the night with her. He waited to see what she wanted; his face was impassive, which was hard to maintain considering the pain he was in.

Servalan traced his jaw with her index finger. She tilted his head back and kissed him lightly; he responded to her. After a few moments she drew back and smiled, Sester had been right about the conditioning.

Avon glared at her. He hated this woman who kept him imprisoned and he hated being helpless before her; but he had enough of lessons for awhile.

"Your tech minders tell me that you've stopped progressing on the problem. You know that's not healthy for you."

"Must we go through this charade?"

"But that's part of the fun Avon."

He sighed. "I can't work and fight the pain anymore."

"You do well enough in bed."

He definitely was not going to respond to that.

Servalan drew her hand slowly along his chest, further on down to his leg and finally resting on his injured knee.

He steeled himself for more pain.

She traced the outline of his knee through his grey prison coveralls, teasing him.

"Did I hurt you too much the other night?" she asked.

He looked at her. _What do you want from me?_ "Are you here to finish the job?"

He didn't disappoint her; she pressed down lightly on his knee, he stiffened but did not make a sound. She pressed down harder and was rewarded with a groan. Servalan stopped pushing but kept her hand resting on his knee.

"I don't think there is anything left to destroy."

"You could always start on the other one," he told her.

"Is that what you want me to do?"

"Only if you don't want any progress in the lab."

"Are you asking for your knee to be fixed?"

_So that's what you're after,_ he thought, realizing why she was there. _It's not going to be that easy._

"I don't think the guards would appreciate having to carry me everywhere," he told her, ignoring her question.

"The surgeon tell me you will never be able to walk on that knee again."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

She reached up and pulled open the zipper on his coveralls and exposed his body. Stroking her hand gently down his bared chest, she said, "I know what I want."

"You're insatiable."

"And you're too talented for your own good."

His jaw tightened as the stabbing pain came again.

"You're going to be useless until we get that knee fixed aren't you?" she asked as he struggled with the pain. "Very well. I will speak to the doctors."

* * *

Argus was arguing with Jenna. Vila was arguing with Argus. Cally kept to her cabin a lot. Everyone kept yelling at ORAC.

The members of the _Justice_ crew were out of sorts with each other, and especially out of sorts with themselves. They knew that the mining disaster had been their fault. It had been fun manipulating the miners and watching the Federation negotiators become increasingly frustrated.

They had not known how quickly things would escalate out of control; and now all of the miners were dead. All two hundred and eleven of them and the mine had been destroyed.

The Federation had been denied some potentially deadly new weapons but at what cost?

* * *

Days later, Avon was back in the lab, working on the Federation Banking problem. He had spent three days in the medical unit while they repaired the injuries to his knee. They had kept him unconscious most of the time.

He rubbed his knee, it was sore. The surgeon had only repaired enough to return it to the condition it was before Servalan played with it.

He turned back to what he was working on.

The Federation Banking computers had been infiltrated by a new type of hacker. Whoever it was had managed to bypass the main shell of the security system and set up a resonance in the LC crystal which was used to encode transactions. LC crystals were lesser variants of the TP crystals used to encode Federation communication transmissions.

_Very creative_. This method meant that the person had mapped the crystal's frequency responses and decode enough of the signals to gain access to financial records. This person was also intelligent enough to get pass the next level of security; it was very similar to the method he had originally used many years ago to bypass this level.

Further efforts by the hacker to trigger specific transactions had set off a third series of security protocols which they had not been aware of. The person was obviously a gifted amateur who did not know the paranoia of Federation security. Repeated attempts to protect against this hacker had failed, that was why the problem had been brought to him.

This method would not have been successful against a TP crystal but in this system it was very effective.

Avon ran a few tests and simulations, the key was in the resonance of the LC crystal; it pointed to something the security personnel had dismissed. It had to be someone who had physical access to the crystal at some point.

First the crystal had to be replaced, that would fix the immediate problem. Second, he began to develop a smarter, more flexible shell which would give the new hacker a few surprises the next time he or she tried to access the system, hopefully this person would learn the dangers quickly. Any further access would set off a trap.

* * *

"I have been reviewing the isolation footage," Sester reported to the Federation President over her vidcomm as she was working in her Presidential office; he was referring to the two hours of being restrained to a chair in her empty office that Avon was subjected to whenever he was brought to her.

"And?"

"Do you have anything urgent for him to work on after this? I'll need four weeks with him."

"Nothing which can't keep for awhile. Why?"

"I want to find out something about the nightmares and now that we have the implant in his knee we can test it's effectiveness. I'm going to give him a full session in the nerve induction unit then use the isolation chamber. He will be out of commission for the duration. We need to find out what he did in those hours he disappeared."

"Very well. Keep me informed."

"I will have a feed patched to your monitors so you can observe."

"You always have my best interests at heart."

"That's what you pay me for, isn't it?"

"Four weeks," she mused. "Don't kill him."

"Don't worry. Though he will probably wish he were dead."

After the psychostrategist disappeared from her vidscreen, Servalan looked thoughtful. They needed to find out what Avon did in those hours aboard the _Justice_. As he had shown them in the last few months, he was never going to tell them willingly.

Sester was one of the top psychostrategists in the Federation. People caught in one of his psych-strategies, always ended up doing exactly as he had planned. He had never been known to fail.

_This is going to be interesting_, thought Servalan.


	11. Chapter 11

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Eleven

Prisoner A5428 had been removed to a new cell in the isolation wing while in his drug-induced sleep. He was now lying on the ground in the bare cell. The medtech injected a different set of drugs into the sleeping man; one of the drugs was used by the psych unit regularly to increase the fear response; another prevented sleep regardless of the level of exhaustion; a third intensified pain, others increased activity in the areas of the brain involved in producing nightmares. It was a very similar mix to the one originally used when they first subjected him to the nightmare scenarios. The medtech exited the cell. The lights were immediately dimmed.

Avon woke. His mind tried to focus. He was only just starting to recover from his session in the nerve induction unit. His was shivering, both from the after effects of the torture in the induction chamber, and from the cold in the cell. _Why is it so cold?_ The temperature in his cell was normally kept below a comfortable level, but never this cold.

He didn't want to move but it was dark and he was in strange surroundings. Avon straightened himself and immediately hit his head against the side of the cell. After a few moments, as his eyes adjusted, he realized that it was not completely dark, there was just enough light for him to make out his new environment.

Avon looked around, he appeared to be in a small cell, about two thirds the size of his other one. The cell was completely bare, not even a sleep platform.

_I seem to be moving down in the world._ The ceiling appeared to extend up beyond what he could see in the dim lighting. It was completely silent.

The darkness filled him with dread, it meant the ghosts and the visions would come soon.

Holding onto the wall for support, he attempted to stand up but sharp stabs of pain from his knee made him fall back. After his time in the med unit, the pain should no longer be this bad; he should have at least been able to stand. When the pain subsided, he tried again but more stabs of pain again prevented him from being able to get up. After the third try, he gave up and leaned back against the wall.

He tried to reason out what was happening; they had subjected him to a full session in the nerve induction unit, he had been removed to this cell while he was drugged, his knee appeared to be worse and the cell was dark. There was only one reason he could think of why they would have done all of this.

It had only been a matter of time before they escalated the nightmares. The two hours they normally subjected him in Servalan's office had obviously not produced the results they wanted.

He had to fight, if he gave up the information they wanted, he would never have another chance, they would make sure of it.

He had no control over the nightmares but he had gained some limited control over his own reactions to them. He knew it was not enough; as they wore him down, he would lose even that little control. He had to give them something before that, they had to think they had won, else they would not stop.

He already knew what he was going to do, but he had to make it a good show; his life and future freedom depended on it. Because his two opponents were Servalan and Sester, he had to allow himself to be pushed to the very edge, else they would not be satisfied; anything less and they would know that they were being fooled. He knew he was running a great risk, he had to allow them to weaken him to the point that they would be convinced when he broke, but in that weakness, he had to retain enough strength so that he would only reveal what he was willing to give up; that was the most difficult part.

_Avon,_ a ghost called his name.

The battle had begun.

Pressing down hard on his injured knee, he stifled a yell; the pain drove away the ghost.

_Very clever Avon,_ Sester thought, _but you can't win this one_.

The psychostrategist made several adjusts to the palm-sized implant control and continued monitoring Avon on the vidscreen in the isolation control booth nearby.

Avon pressed down again on his knee when the pain subsided.

Nothing. No pain.

He changed the angle and pushed down again. Still nothing.

He tried to get up. Daggers of pain caused him to groan. It was impossible to get up.

_Interesting._

But as long as he could produce pain, it would suit his purposes; it didn't matter how.

He waited for it to die down and tried to get up again, this time there was no pain at all and he got up successfully. He walked around tentatively, it felt good even though there was nowhere to go; the movement seemed to help settle the shaking. The analyst had not been able to walk around unaided and without pain in along time.

All of a sudden he collapsed to the ground, it felt as if someone was tearing his knee apart, he screamed in agony. He had never experienced this kind of pain before in his knee, even when he was being tortured with the wave manipulator. After what seemed like an eternity, the pain finally abated. His mind was in shock and he was shaking badly again.

He lay unmoving, trying to rest but in the dark and isolation of the cell, he could feel his mind slipping towards the nightmares again.

_No._ He fought his own mind and struck out against his knee again. He stiffened at the pain he had just caused himself but it soon passed, it was nowhere near as bad as it should have been, it was as if someone had anticipated his actions and was controlling the pain.

He sat up and explored the joint. _Odd._ There did not appear to be any damage; there should have been. He thought he could feel something, something which was not bone, muscle, or ligament.

The surgery: they must have fixed his knee completely, but they had done something which enabled them to simulate damage and to cause and control the pain. He had not been able to tell the difference, until now.

They had wanted him to know.

Someone was playing with him.

Although this activity was distracting his mind from the nightmares, it served little useful purpose. He was using all of his energy and concentration to fight an invisible opponent who had full control over his surroundings; an adversary who could inflict pain at will; an enemy who could anticipate his every movement and was not allowing him any kind of control.

He did not have the endurance to keep this up, eventually exhaustion would overtake him and he would be left with nothing with which to fight the nightmares.

He could guess who his opponent was; as he had guessed, it was going to be a dangerous game.

Sester was watching Avon struggling on the vidscreen monitor. As he had anticipated, the analyst had easily figured out about the knee implant, it had only been a matter of time, but the psychostrategist had controlled the when. Doing it now, when they were going to manipulate him into revealing what they wanted to know, would serve to show the analyst how little control he had over his own life.

It was all about the control.

Sester adjusted the palm-sized implant control unit again. Avon was trying to damage his own knee in order to cause pain but the implant not only inflicted pain, it gave total control over the knee and regulated impulses to the brain, as the analyst would soon find out.

It was like one of their games of chess, except the field of battle was Avon's mind, and despite the analyst's best efforts, Sester had power over all the pieces.

_What is he doing now?_ thought Sester as he watched Avon exploring the area around the knee, applying pressure at various points and grimacing occasionally.

The implant control beeped. _Interesting. You shouldn't be able to do that._

Sester changed the settings on the implant unit and pressed the pain activator. The analyst yelled in pain and grabbed his knee. Sester waited five minutes before turning it off.

Sester turned on the cell's speaker.

"You do not have control here Avon, if you continue, I will have you restrained to the wall. Is that what you want?"

"No." The analyst's voice sounded muted over the comm unit.

"Will you behave?"

"Yes."

Sester turned the speaker off.

For the next six hours, the psychostrategist played with his captive; keeping him off- balance, siphoning off his energy, taking away his control, and making him scream.

By the end, the prisoner could no longer do anything except lie on the ground and moan from the pain he could neither control nor escape. He was also starting to interact with things which were not there; the nightmares had taken over.

Sester stretched, the nightmares would continue to work on the prisoner without any additional input from him. The crimino-technician who sat next to him in the control booth could be left to monitor while he took a break.

It was an intense session. The goal was to wear the analyst down to the point where the nightmares would have greater power over his mind and will.

In chess, he and Avon were evenly matched and keeping several steps ahead of him was difficult, but in this game Sester made the rules.

Even with a severe handicap, Avon would not be easy to break down; he should have been. The Centre's best had been working on him, off and on for over two years. They had damaged him virtually everyway a man could be damaged; physically, mentally, and psychologically but they had never succeeded in breaking his will. He and Servalan had manipulated him into making compromises but that was not the same thing.

Sester had the advantage of the implant; every time, the analyst had threatened to regain the ability for coherent thought, the psychostrategist would subject him to increasing periods of intense pain, then the mind trigger would be applied to force a mind that could no longer concentrate, to think. It was cruel but necessary. Of course, nothing they had ever done to him was anything but cruel.

Before Sester exited the booth, he checked the settings of the constant pain activator on the implant control unit. It had been set for a constant throbbing pain. Not enough to distract from the nightmares but just enough to continue sapping the prisoner's energy and preventing any recovery.

Just one last thing to do before he left the room. He turned on the cell's speaker again.

"It's time to work Avon."

It was just the beginning.

Avon lay curled on the ground in the small dark cell as the pain from his knee subsided. His body was trembling, he had never fully recovered from being in the nerve induction unit and now he was being assaulted mercilessly both physically and mentally by an opponent who was not going to let him go until he had given up his secret.

He needed sleep, but the current bout of pain had just shown him that he was not being allowed that. Avon pulled himself to the wall and rested against it. The movement aggravated the knee again, a knee which was not really injured.

His mind started wandering again.

_Without access to a cipher unit, the chances of finding information on the antidote to the techno-virus is extremely slim. It is a waste of my precious time and resources to do something which has such a low probability of success._ The ORAC unit sounded annoyed.

"No!" Avon shouted at it. "You must." Some small part of him remembered he must not respond to ORAC the way he normally would.

Why was he shouting? He never shouted, cold sarcastic comments, yes; shouting was for the labour grades.

_It is illogical to rescue someone when there is nothing left to rescue_.

"You arrogant…." Avon said. He stopped himself, he couldn't remember why he had to.

Avon shook his head, it was another nightmare vision, one he could not afford. He struggled against it but his mind would not stop.

_ORAC will no longer respond to you Avon. I have control. I have the command code. You made a deal and now you have to live with it. How much did she pay you to betray us?_ Argus asked. His voice was like steel.

"I didn't," Avon said, his voice was equally cold. He was indifferent to the opinions of the rebel leader. He knew ORAC would do as he had instructed it. The others had no idea how much he knew about how ORAC functioned; and he was not about to tell them.

_I've finally made ORAC into a drinks dispenser Avon. He's no use to you anymore._ Vila said.

Avon laughed, he knew he was going mad.

"He's got another four hours before he reaches the end of the seventy-two hour cycle," the c-tech reported as Sester entered the control booth to check on the prisoner. More than seventy-two hours without sleep and Avon's mind would descend into the oblivion of madness and then they would have to waste time bringing him back. They always allowed him sleep before he reached that point; this was the third three-day cycle.

"How is he doing otherwise?"

"He's stopped trying to hurt himself."

"That's good."

"He's finally accepted that he has no choice but to suffer the nightmares."

"I doubt that. He's trying to figure out something else."

"But there's nothing he can do." In the crimino-technician's experience, no one could withstand the kind of treatment the prisoner was getting, not for long and he had worked on the best.

"I would agree. If he were an ordinary man."

"But he's still human."

_He would debate that,_ thought the psychostrategist, smiling inwardly.

"He's very resourceful."

"You're very sure of him, sir."

"I am. This time when you sedate him, use a normal sedative only." Using a normal sedative meant that the nightmares would continue to plague the prisoner's sleep, the sleep would only be enough to keep him sane.

"He won't get much rest then."

"That's the idea."

"Call me a half hour before you wake him for the next session. Put bio-sensor pads on him. I also want a med team in attendance."

Sester had broken down the analyst with pain and continually keeping him off-balance; now it was time to take another layer of control from him. They were stripping away Avon's conscious will so that he would be helpless in fighting the nightmares.


	12. Chapter 12

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Twelve

Avon drifted in and out of consciousness, he was exhausted; the voices and the visions would not stop. This was one of the few lucid moments when the voices appeared to recede into the background and he could think.

It seemed that they had let him sleep recently but he could not remember when. He wanted a sleep which did not come with nightmares; either the drugs no longer worked, or more likely, they had changed the sedatives while he was in this nightmare room. He could not even guess the effect of the other drugs they were also injecting into him.

Blinding light in the cell again; light in this cell was not a good sign. There was a flurry of motion as people shapes entered the cell. Again strong, cruel hands rolled him onto his back and then held him down like bands of steel, immobilizing arms and legs.

A bio-injector was pressed against his neck, a familiar hissing sound as drugs entered his system.

His vision began to cloud. _Another sedative?_

A prick of pain towards the front of his neck, near the vocal chords. There appeared to be two medtechs. Was he experiencing double-vision?

The lights continued to dim.

It was so dark now he could barely make out shadows of people. He could feel the zipper of his prison coverall being pulled down and something cold pressed against his chest over the heart, another on the other side and one to his left temple.

Movement stopped, they all appeared to be waiting.

Darkness; he could no longer see.

Someone checked his eyes. An uncomfortable realization, it wasn't dark, he was blind; something they injected him with had robbed him of sight. He had a brief second of shock and panic and before he could react, an attack of excruciating pain radiated from his knee. He arched in agony as the hands held him fast.

He screamed but there was no sound. His throat was frozen, paralyzed; they had done this to him too. He choked, barely able to breathe.

Something covered his mouth, he moved his head trying to shake it off. Another set of hands held both sides of his head, not allowing him to move. He tried to breathe, it was oxygen; it was an oxygen mask. Someone lifted his head, pulled a band behind his head and put his head down again, the band held the mask in place.

A second attack of pain; this one was different, it felt like the ligaments were being twisted apart. He never experienced this type of pain before in his knee, he tried to scream and only ended up choking again. The cruel hands continued to hold him down as he squirmed in agony, unable to scream. He began to retch, the contents of his stomach started coming up. The mask was removed and he was rolled onto his side so that he could throw up onto the ground.

They held him there as another attack of pain came; more of the twisting pain, more emptying of his stomach. He didn't think that anything could possibly taste worse than the gruel they normally fed him, but the mix of bile and gruel together definitely qualified.

There was wave after wave of pain until his stomach was empty. When it finally stopped, they rolled him over onto his back again and the mess was cleaned up. He tried to recover his strength but the pain returned, even stronger. His body strained against his captors, his mouth opened in a silent scream.

After what seemed like hours of pain, he felt his heart begin to falter; it was beating erratically and there was an unbearable tightness across his chest, it felt like something heavy was crushing him. It was a familiar sensation, he would finally get some relief, even if only for a few minutes.

The pain stopped again. There were indistinct voices in the darkness; something else cold and metallic was pressed against his chest, a tingling sensation extending through to his heart. A bio-injector pressed against his neck, there was a burst of faint energy and his heart slowed it's racing.

The pain suddenly returned full force; his heart felt like it was going to explode. It should have failed, but it didn't; the drugs they had just injected him with prevented it.

They controlled his body, they did not even allow him the refuge of his heart stopping or his mind slipping into unconsciousness; he was completely helpless. Tears of pain streamed down his face from eyes which could no longer see; it was the only reaction they allowed him.

For hours, Sester worked on the analyst; anticipating his every move, his every thought, removing anything he could hold onto and never allowing him enough time to recover so he could gather strength to fight. The psychostrategist explored all the variants of pain the implant was capable of; tearing, twisting, stabbing, throbbing and shattering pain, varying the intensities in order to make the pain worse. It was a fascinating academic exercise. By the end, he had become even better than the Centre interrogators at inflicting the kind of pain which destroys all resistance. He had the advantage of a brilliant mind and the special manipulative skills of the psychostrategist.

Eventually Avon could no longer even throw up, each attempt to resulted in spasms of pain from abdominal muscles which had been overtaxed. This too his captors had a remedy for, they gave him a mild muscle relaxant.

It went on and on; by the end, Avon was so passively accepting the pain that Sester was afraid that he had been stressed too far.

The pain finally stopped.

"Release him," the Sester's voice came from the speaker far above.

The hands let go; there were bands of painful bruises where they had been holding him down. The prisoner could feel someone bend down beside him; a bio-injector pressed against his neck again. The sensor pads removed and his coveralls zipped back up. The oxygen mask was taken away.

To Avon, they all seemed very far away. The only thing which felt close, was the still constant pain from his knee, now a manageable dull throbbing. He could hear feet moving, they were leaving. The cell door slid closed, it was quiet again.

Avon curled his back, bringing his knees up; an instinctive protective action against the assault of the past hours. His mind was numb and there was pain from muscles which had been overtaxed by the torture; he didn't want to do anything except curl up and pass out.

"Avon."

"No," he groaned weakly. He never felt as defenceless as he did now, he did not have anything left to fight the ghosts. He shivered in the cold of the cell.

There was a shocked realization, he had spoken. His throat hurt and it still felt tight, but he had spoken.

"Avon," the insistent voice called his name again. It was not a ghost.

"Go away," he rasped.

Someone lifted him up halfway and threw him hard against the wall, this aggravated his knee. He would have groaned except the wind had been knocked out of him. Someone positioned him into a sitting position.

Avon opened his eyes and found that he could make out a vague shape in front of him. His sight was returning, he was relieved; he had a vague realization that they would never have blinded him permanently, not if Servalan wanted to continue using him.

As his sight gradually cleared he saw two people, a black-shirted Centre guard and leaning against the wall, his arms crossed casually over his chest, was his nemesis over the cell's speaker, the psychostrategist.

He had a quickly suppressed flash of anger. "What do you want?" Avon rasped. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, trying to rest; to regain some strength and to wait for the psychostrategist to make a move.

A hand slapped him hard across the face. "Open your eyes!" A barked command. The guard had leaned down and hit him. Avon opened his eyes. The guard slapped him again, the sound of each strike was loud in the bare cell. The guard continued to strike him.

Avon rolled with the blows to lessen their impact, he had gotten quite good at it after two years of beatings; besides there was nothing else he could do.

"Stop," the psychostrategist ordered calmly after the fifth strike. The guard did as instructed and stepped back. "You may leave." The guard turned and left the cell.

Avon moved his jaw, his face was still smarting from the blows. The guards had never slapped him before, they were under orders never to strike anywhere near his head, he was too valuable a commodity. It was too easy to make a mistake and cause damage they did not want. The only one who had ever slapped him before was Servalan, when she was very angry with him.

"You have no control here Avon. Remember that."

"How could I forget?" _That must be the lesson for the day_ he thought sarcastically.

"Now don't fall asleep, we're going to talk."

"I didn't break the agreement."

"Don't you ever tire of saying that?"

"Don't you ever tire of hearing it?" The prisoner stopped looking at the psychostrategist and concentrated on a spot on the far wall, he no longer wanted to look at the man who considered his life a game.

"You're a stubborn man."

"Is that what I am?" Avon asked tiredly. He didn't know who he was anymore, he had been nothing except what they had wanted him to be the last couple of months; he had not had the energy to be anything else. Even when he had not had the energy, they had forced him.

But that was apparently not enough, they were in the process of stripping away everything from him.

His stomach felt uncomfortable.

"You must know by now that you can't win," Sester told him. There was a level of seriousness to his tone Avon had not heard before.

Avon didn't answer.

"This will not end until you tell me what I want to know, until you tell me what measures you put in place in those forty hours you disappeared?"

"Why don't you save yourself a lot of time and just kill me."

"You won't get off that easily Avon, Servalan will never allow you the freedom of death, not until she has taken everything from you and probably not even then."

Avon shuddered involuntarily. He didn't know if it was from the cold or from what the psychostrategist was saying.

"She told me that she bought you once. Is that true?"

Avon tightened his jaw at the memory of the slave auction on Domo. He had gone down to the planet to trap Servalan and ended up being trapped himself. After she had bought him, the slavers had brought him before her and forced him to his knees. Fortunately he had gotten away.

"Yes. It was a mistake."

"She doesn't see it that way."

"I'm sure she doesn't. I don't care what she thinks."

"That's not a healthy attitude considering the position you're in."

"One day I will kill her."

"I don't think so. It's an interesting game the two of you play, trying to kill each other and never really succeeding."

"You don't think I could kill her?"

"I believe you may have been able to once, but not anymore. Servalan has made sure of it. You see, you have been conditioned, you are no longer able to kill her."

Avon's jaw tightened in anger but his face remained neutral.

The psychostrategist watched the analyst's reaction; another layer of control had been stripped away.

This was not really a fair contest, not anymore.

Actually Sester had lied to him, they had not conditioned him for that yet but just the suggestion that they had would be enough to prevent him from trying. The day he realized the truth, would be the day they would condition him. And unlike the conditioning to make him work, no mind blocks would be applied to cause him to forget the process, it would be much worse that way.

"Nothing to say?"

Avon wanted to tell the man that this kind of manipulation would not work on him, that telling him this would not affect him in the least but he would have been lying. He felt sick, they kept taking away what little he had left; and now even the ability to kill his most hated enemy.

"Is she that afraid of me?"

Sester smiled. _I can see why she likes playing with you. But I wonder if you will be as much fun after we force this next compromise from you._

"She doesn't like playing fair," the strategist replied. He signalled the technician to open the cell door.

Sester headed towards the exit, at the doorway, he turned around and told the analyst, "Tell me when you've had enough."

As Sester walked back to the control booth, he reflected on the goal of the exercise, they wanted to take all hope away from the analyst, and force him to destroy it himself. From their interaction in the cell, he knew that Avon was not ready yet to give up the information they wanted.

Back in the control booth, he left instructions for the c-tech before he left.

"Keep up this treatment for the rest of the session and give him two hours rest in-between. And now that he's given up trying to hurt himself, I want his hands bound behind him until it is all finished."

"It will be done sir," the technician acknowledged.


	13. Chapter 13

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Thirteen

The Federation President watched the Avon on her vidscreen as he lay moaning on the floor of the isolation cell. She touched the screen, wanting to give him comfort. Sester was proving to be a gifted torturer; he seemed to instinctively know how to break down resistance and to maintain constant control over the helpless prisoner.

At times, as she watched, it had been difficult not to feel sympathy for the suffering man; from this safe distance, she could allow herself the luxury of feelings she would never have when she was with him.

_If only you weren't so stubborn, then none of this would be necessary._

The interrogators entered the cell again; she couldn't watch anymore. Servalan turned off the vidscreen and picked up her datapad.

She re-read a report on the mine disaster. For months the Federation had lost track of the _Justice _and it's crew, but now it appeared that they were somehow involved in what had happened on mining planet C-812. The descriptions of two suspect persons who may have been involved, were clearly the little thief, Vila and the ex-Land Commander, Argus. She could not this little band of rebels interfere in her plans again. Something would have to be done.

She reflected on the irony which had caused her to use Avon to take out her anger and frustration over the mine disaster, when it was caused by the crew of the _Justice_.

Servalan called her personal assistant, "Corry, get Controller Tarvin of Central Security for me. Tell him I want to see him this afternoon. After that, I want a vidconference with Science Commander Latham."

* * *

_Without access to a cipher unit, I am unable to access the information you requested ORAC told the analyst._

_At that moment Argus entered the flight deck. "What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously._

"Nothing." Avon was not about to let Argus know his plans.

_"Really? Do you really think I don't know? You're dreaming Avon. I will never let ORAC rescue you. There is too much blood on your hands. Look." Argus pointed. _

Avon brought his hands up. _There was blood, lots of blood. _"No!" Avon shouted_. He stared at the blood. Argus was right, he did not deserve to be rescued. _"No!" He shook his head

_"Where is the cold, logical machine now?" Argus taunted him. "I thought you said that you knew nothing about guilt."_

His chest hurt and his knee. _Why do they hurt?_

For a brief moment the vision vanished, he was in the cell again, holding his hands up; there was no blood on it. He remembered.

_I can't let these visions happen. Not these ones_ he thought.

_You don't have a choice Avon the rebel leader intruded into his consciousness again._

_No. I can't afford these ones_. he shook his head, trying to banish the vision.

_What do you think you can do? You're just one man. And you're alone, against two opponents you cannot beat. Not even ORAC will help you now. I've made sure of that. _

Avon looked at him coldly, he was used to being alone.

He shook his head again, he was starting to interact with the visions again; his control was slipping. There was one final thing he could do, it was a last desperate step; he had to access the nightmares they had used against him before in order to distract from the nightmares he did not want.

_Anna.

* * *

_

Things had settled down on the _Justice_. The crew were no longer at each other's throats. After the distance of time, they realized that they could not have anticipated the extreme reaction of the miners. Other than a natural tendency towards paranoia, there had been no indications of the instability which would lead to such an extreme reaction.

They were resolved to be more careful next time and assess the situation more carefully. Jenna was still guilty that the idea to manipulate the miners' paranoia had been hers. It had shaken her confidence to the extent that she was not sure that going to Sector Ten to help Olean Rane was a good idea anymore.

"Don't beat yourself over it Jenna," Argus told the still depressed woman as the crew shared an evening meal together in the dining area near one of the cargo holds. Vila was monitoring things on the flight deck. "You couldn't have known; none of us did."

"I still feel responsible."

"It was not your intention for this to happen, and it was not a circumstance which anyone could have predicted," said Cally.

"Saying that we didn't mean for it to happen, doesn't make me feel any better. Does it make you feel any better?" the woman challenge.

"You're right, it doesn't. But if there had been time to react, we would have all done our best to avert this disaster, but we were not given the chance," Cally continued, trying to help all of them put some perspective into what had happened.

Argus said, "Jenna, you know the risks we take whenever we are on a mission. Sometimes there is collateral damage. It's a harsh thing to say, but if you don't accept that, then you've only been fooling yourself and you should just stop now."

The rebel leader always had a brutal honesty. As a military leader, he had always known there were risks to everything he did, and oftentimes those risks involved others.

"I know you're right Argus, although part of me doesn't accept it. Can _you_ accept that I need to be angry at myself for awhile?"

Argus nodded. He added, "We should head towards Sector Ten. Rane's going to need your help Jenna, and we promised our aid. We can set a speed of standard by six, that way it will us take us three weeks."

Jenna hesitated, she wasn't up to making that kind of decision at this time.

"At the end of the three weeks, if you still aren't up to it, you can opt out," said Argus. "Agreed?"

"Agreed," said Jenna reluctantly.

"Cally?"

"Agreed," replied the Auron.

* * *

The next day, the crew were all on the flight deck, making preparations to leave for Sector Ten.

"There appears to be signal coming from C-812," reported Cally.

"But I thought all the miners were dead?" said Vila.

"Zen, identify the signal coming from C-812," said Argus.

"It is a standard Federation distress beacon."

"Can you identify where the signal is coming from?"

"Please observe on the monitor."

The visual interface showed an orbital view of the former mining asteroid, which currently had a huge crater on one side of it. There was a glowing red spot on the surface of the asteroid, it was near the bunker area used as a living quarters.

"Zen, are the medium-range scanners still on."

"Affirmative."

"I want a long and medium-range sensor sweep of this entire area. Report any indications that there may be a Federation presence."

After a few moments, Zen reported, "Long-range scanners have detected a group of Federation pursuit ships headed towards C-812."

"Estimated time of arrival?"

"One hour and twelve minutes at present speed and course."

"How many ships are there?"

"There are five pursuit ships."

"Have they detected us yet?"

"There is no indication that the _Justice_ has been detected."

"How long before they spot us with their close-range visual scanners?"

"We will be within visual scanner range in one hour."

"That should give us enough time to go down and check things out and get out before they've spotted us."

"Zen, bring the navigation computers online. I want the optimal flight path to escape the pursuit ships the moment we come back onboard."

"Confirmed."

"Cally, bring your med kit and Vila, bring your kit as well," said Argus. The Auron immediately left the flight deck in order to prepare.

"Couldn't you just blast through any doors you come across? I'm sure no one minds anymore," said Vila.

"Don't you want to help the miners? In case some of them did survive?"

"Well, I suppose," said Vila reluctantly. He headed towards his cabin.

"Nicely done," remarked Jenna.

Argus grinned at her.

"But not very subtle."

"I'll work on it."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Argus, Vila and Cally shimmered into view inside the bunker where the distress beacon was supposed to be emanating from. It was pitch dark. The three had been prepared and switched on their hand-lights.

All three wore a similar equipment belt now. It was one of the things which Argus had instituted for their off-ship jaunts. The belt not only contained their pulse guns but had general essentials such as hand-lights, spare teleport bracelet, emergency beacon, directional locator etc.

The bunker was not only dark when they arrived, it was also completely silent.

Argus took out his directional locator. "The coordinates, Zen specified are in this direction." He pointed and then headed off down the corridor in the indicated direction. Cally and Vila followed.

Every room they passed through was as devoid of life as the last one. They finally reached the last room.

"There isn't anything here," said Vila. "Let's head back."

"We picked up the distress beacon, something's got to be here."

"It's the 'something' which makes me nervous," said Vila, looking very nervous.

"Argus, we need to get out of here. Look out the window," Cally told him, pointing to a window.

Argus looked. Just outside the window, about fifteen feet away was an object, about the size and shape of a small missile, it's nose partially embedded into the surface of the asteroid. A light on it blinked in a regular sequence.

"I think, that's our distress beacon."

"You were right Vila, it's a trap." exclaimed Argus who immediately activated his voicecomm, "Jenna, bring us up immediately and bring the battle computers online."

Within seconds, the three shimmered back onto the _Justice_.

Jenna was about to ask them what was going on but Argus rushed to the flight deck, followed by Vila and Cally. "I'll tell you on the way. We have to get to the flight deck."

* * *

Rushing onto the flight deck, they all went to their respective stations.

Argus asked, "Zen, how far away are the pursuit ships now?"

"Pursuit ships are currently two minutes away from firing range."

"Two minutes! Zen, follow the optimal escape path plotted earlier, speed standard by twelve. Get us out of here."

The would all have liked to ask how a buffer of an hour could disappear to two minutes but they had more important things to attend to at the moment.

Argus continued, "Zen, show us the pursuit ships on the screen."

"Confirmed, observe the screen."

The view of the asteroid disappeared and a space view with the pursuit ships appeared.

"Those aren't like any Federation pursuit ships I've ever seen," remarked Jenna.

"Zen, access the Federation Central Ship registry, can you identify the ships which are chasing us?"

"Information from the Central Ship registry indicate they are Starbust class Mark II pursuit ships."

"Mark II?" wondered Jenna, "I've never heard of those. The Mark I's are long range pursuit ships. They shouldn't be very fast."

"Uh Argus, are we sure about that?" said Vila, indicating the screen and the ships which did not appear to be falling behind.

"Zen, what speed are the ships following us travelling at?"

"The pursuit ships are currently travelling at standard by 10.19"

"That's impossible," exclaimed Jenna. "The Federation doesn't have any ships that can travel nearly that fast."

"Maybe you should tell them that," said Vila.

The pursuit ships fired, tracers approached the _Justice_.

"Cally, forcewall." Cally went over to the forcewall control panel and activated the energy screen.

"Forcewall up," she reported.

It was just in time, the impact of the tracers rocked the ship.

"Zen, report damage."

"The ship has sustained no damage."

They all saw more tracers approaching.

"Jenna, do you think you can navigate the asteroid belt and lose the pursuit ships."

"I can try."

"Do it."

Jenna took hold of the pilot controls, switched the ship to manual and began steering the ship in an arc back around to the vast asteroid debris field in which C-812 had been part of. Her superior piloting skills and the slightly faster speed of the _Justice_ enabled them to lose the pursuit ships.

* * *

Sester returned to the isolation control booth towards the end of the sixth cycle. He looked at the monitors, Avon was leaning against a wall and he appeared to be speaking to someone who was not in the room.

"Anything to report?" the strategist asked the crimino-technician.

"He keeps talking to someone named Anna," the man replied. "Can't quite figure out if she's an ally or an enemy. I think he's trying to trick us."

Sester smiled. "He is up to something," he told the man, "but it's not a trick."

_I did warn you that he was going to think of something else_.

Somehow Avon had gained a limited control over the nightmares, not enough to prevent them but enough to redirect them. He was allowing his mind to torture him with memories of Anna in order to prevent it from focusing on the information they were trying to find out.

_But it's a losing proposition my friend _thought Sester. _The more you allow yourself to be tortured, the weaker you become and the less able you will be to fight what we want. It only delays the inevitable. _

"Give me the implant control."

The technician handed the small control unit to him. Sester changed the setting to the high end of the tearing pain and depressed the activator.

The man on the monitor screamed and grabbed his knee. He collapsed on the ground as the pain continued; he moaned in agony.

Sester waited five minutes and then switched the activator off. He turned on the speaker to the cell.

"Don't do that again Avon."

"Do what?" the prisoner asked, his voice strained.

Sester depressed the activator again; there were more sounds of agony. He waited one minute this time then turned it off.

"You know what I mean. You may be able to fool them but not me."

"I wasn't trying to fool anyone," the analyst replied, his voice barely registering. Sester gestured the guard to turn up the pick-up volume.

"No you weren't," he agreed. "You realize this is a move of desperation?"

There was no response from the prisoner.

Sester activated the implant control again, another sixty seconds of pain.

"Do I have to remind you, you do not have control here Avon. Now answer the question."

The man was gasping for breath.

The strategist repeated the question, "Do you realize this is a move of desperation?"

"Yes," came the reluctant reply.

Sester turned the speaker off. "I am going to take personal control of the remainder of the cycles. Let the team know," he told the c-tech.

Sester sighed, he was going to have to cancel his other plans. He had not expected to have to be this actively involved until the last few cycles. Avon should not have had enough left to be able to gain this kind of control but in desperation, some people are able to dig into deeper reserves of strength.

_I misjudged you Avon, I don't do that often and I won't be doing that again_.

He was full of admiration for this man, and pity.


	14. Chapter 14

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Fourteen

Sester got up from his chair and stretched, he was feeling a bit claustrophobic in the isolation control booth. He had been here for almost twelve days, except for periodic four hour breaks. It had been an intense twelve days and he felt intensely tired. There was a cot next to the control terminal for when he needed sleep but it was uncomfortable and tended to give him back pains.

_I don't know how you do it Avon, living with exhaustion but of course you don't have a choice do you?_

He sat down and turned his attention again to the man on the monitor. The prisoner was lying curled on the ground, shivering and moaning. Sester turned the speaker to the cell on, the pressure had to be maintained. The prisoner could not be allowed to recover.

"Avon."

The man did not answer, he seemed oblivious to everything except the pain.

Sester had worked on the prisoner almost continuously in the past twelve days, occasionally spelled by the crimino-technicians when he needed rest. The prisoner was only allowed enough rest to keep him sane, and even then just barely.

Sester pressed the pain activator again, the prisoner gave a hoarse scream. After one minute of the pain the activator was turned off.

"Talk to me Avon."

"Yes," the voice was a hardly discernible whisper. He sounded like he was responding to something.

_Another nightmare?_ Sester was perplexed, he hadn't asked a question.

Except one.

"What are you saying yes to Avon?"

"What you wanted," the prisoner replied.

"And what do I want?"

"You want to know the plans I put in place."

Ahhh. It had finally happened. The psychostrategist sat back, shocked. He knew that this was coming soon but not quite at that moment.

He turned up the setting on the implant control and depressed the pain activator again.

The prisoner screamed in anguish, "No!"

_Now to the next stage_ Sester thought.

A clever man will always find a solution and Avon was a genius who specialized in solving the unsolvable. For days Sester had been hounding him with these questions; "What happened in those forty hours? What plans did you put in place to save yourself?" Sester's insistent questions had been looped in a low, barely heard whisper over the speaker in the cell, forcing the prisoner's mind to concentrate on what they wanted.

But now that Avon was willing to give them what they wanted, they were not going to take it. It was going to be ripped from him in the form of the nightmares. It was the only way to ensure that he was not tricking them.

That had always been part of the plan but because he had not been told, the prisoner had poured his energies into fighting the demands. Now that he had surrendered, it was natural that he expected a release from the suffering and nightmares, but he was wrong. Their goal was to crush all hope and even the hope that with capitulation came an end to the torment.

Sester turned the activator off, his face was grim, he had never been so directly involved in causing the kind of suffering he had been inflicting on the helpless prisoner. As a psychostrategist, he studied profiles and he strategized; and he played games. It was always other people who carried out the plans. Getting his hands dirty had never been within the purview of his job as a psychostrategist.

He had to admit that he had found the challenge enjoyable and the game stimulating. But as he had suspected, the outcome was not something he took pleasure in.

Very few people could survive the crushing of all hope and with what they were going to make Avon do with this compromise, the final compromise was much closer. They had to be very careful with this one, they had to allow him time to recover, give him time to rebuild who he was.

For the next two hours Sester continued to inflict pain.

As the pain continued, the prisoner did not say another word; he would not plead. Avon had accepted that he had no control. It was clear Sester would do to him whatever he wanted even though he had already surrendered.

Ever since they took away his last resort it had been a desperate struggle. He recognized when it was Sester monitoring him, the psychostrategist seemed to be able to get inside his head. He knew exactly how to keep him off-balance, to prevent him from regaining any sense of control. Sester had been working on him almost continually for days now. Avon did not know how many but he knew he could not take anymore; what little control he had in influencing his own reactions to the nightmares, was virtually gone. He was barely hanging on, so finally he had decided to give in.

When he surrendered, he had hated doing it but it was a necessity. His opponents had to think they won. His jaw tightened at the thought of having displayed such weakness; he had already suffered enough humiliations. This was going to be one more item in the long list he would hold Servalan and Sester responsible for when he killed them.

Giving up the fail-safe meant giving up the man who helped him but he had not given it a second thought, it was a matter of survival. Besides the man knew nothing and Avon had left no electronic traces, he had been careful about that. The man had been a fool to trust him so easily.

The analyst had a flash of anger before the pain came again, driving out all thought.

He had not expected the torture to continue after he had given in. With dismay he realized that he had been outmanoeuvred. He hoped that he had just enough control left to give up only this one thing.

_The café owner looked at him expectantly. The dim light of the monitors reflected off the man's bald head._

"I don't have time for this Cracer. I need a terminal with a secure connection to the Federation CompComm network. One which can't be traced," Avon said.

_The man looked around the room nervously and then said, "Follow me." Avon followed him down the stairs, and through a dimly-lit hallway._

"I don't have any credits," he told the man.

_"There are no credits among friends. I would consider it an honour."_

" I would choose my friends more carefully. You don't even know who I am."

_The owner led him to a locked back room. It held a single terminal with some very illegal devices hooked to it. It was exactly what he had been looking for._

_The man had not asked what he needed the secure connection for. Avon did not tell him. He had still not told him his name. It was much safer for both of them if he didn't. Avon had noticed a back exit on their way down the corridor. This man would not be seeing him again._

_Avon sat down at the terminal, slipped on the hand-interface and set to work. He shivered as he worked. It was cold in the room._

"Twelve hours left on the deadline. Just barely enough time to make some preparations ."_ He sent out a call to the ASP. Some extensive programming would have to be added. There was not much time._

"The _Justice_," he said contemptuously at the choice of name. "More politics." _Would he never be free of people with political agendas. All he ever wanted was to be able to live his own life in peace. All they ever wanted to do was use him. And now he was going to put himself back into the hands of the most treacherous and dangerous of them._

_After his preparations were completed, he began searching for Servalan's private communications channel. After he found what he was looking for, he set to work breaking the security encryption and the protocols. A face appeared on the screen. She looked shocked._

"Servalan." The tone in his voice was as cold as he felt.

_"Avon! How did you get access to this channel? It's supposed to be a secure connection." She did not sound pleased._

"I'm coming in. As per our agreement."

_"Where are you?"_

"On Rygellus in Sector Three, the Gilan system."

_"Very well. Present yourself to Federation Security headquarters there. I will alert them that you're coming. Give them your prisoner identifier. And nothing else."_

He nodded and cut the connection. He wiped all trace of his activities from the computer before he left. "I can't let them know about this."

His vision exploded into pain, he could not stop screaming.

"That's it," Sester told the c-tech even as he activated the implant control, "we got it. I want a data crystal of this last session." He would study it at his leisure.

The man handed him the crystal when he was done.

"You may leave now." The technician left.

Sester muted the volume from the cell to block out the screaming and used the secure channel he had been given.

"Corry."

"Yes sir?" The Federation President's personal aide appeared on the vidcomm screen.

"Is she available?"

"She left instructions to patch you right through whenever you called."

"Fine."

The aide's face disappeared. A few minutes later Servalan's face appeared. She was wearing a red negligee and a shimmering white robe and appeared to be in her bedroom. She looked like she had just gotten up. He looked at the time indicator on his wrist. It was the early hours of the morning. He hadn't realized. With his irregular hours of the past weeks, it had been hard to tell what time it was. He must have woken her up. Well at least he had good news.

"Sorry to wake you Madame President but I have good news."

"It's done?"

"Almost, I thought you might like to watch this last part."

"Thank you," Servalan smiled. "You took thirty one days, not four weeks."

"Well there's always a margin of error with these things, and besides it's Avon, he's allowed a margin of error."

She laughed. "You looked tired."

"You should see the other guy. I'd better get on with it, I don't want him to pass out from the pain."

"You mean you left the implant activator on while we were talking? Poor Avon. Very well, give him his regular four hours when you're done and then send him to me."

"He's going to need more than that, even with the stims he won't be much use to you unless he gets more rest."

"Very well, give him six."

"You're a cruel woman."

She smiled and closed the connection.

_You never allow others to close the connection on you, do you?_ thought Sester.

He did not think it was wise to send Avon to her, not in the state he was currently in, after thirty one days of almost continual torture and nightmares; and especially with only six hours sleep, but the Federation President was not to be denied.

Sester picked up the small implant control and a bio-injector and headed towards the isolation cells.

Sester paused before opening the cell door and turned the pain activator off on the implant control; he did not like sounds of loud screaming in small confined spaces. He input the access code and the door slid open.

When the strategist entered the cell, he heard a different sound, not screaming. It was a sound he had never heard from the analyst before, sobbing.

The sound shocked him. Avon's stubbornness had forced them to employ extreme measures on him; it may have been too much. Sester had not wanted the prisoner to be this broken. He hoped that Avon had not been pushed too far.

_Where is that cold logical mind which doesn't feel anything? It must have been hard to realize that your own mind betrayed you after you fought so long and so hard to prevent it._

Sester waited until the sobbing subsided then he bent down and pressed a bio-injector to the analyst's neck, injecting a mild stim. "It's not time to rest yet Avon."

He helped the man up to a sitting position against the wall. The analyst's head hung in exhaustion and defeat, he did not look up.

"Who is Cracer, Avon?" Sester asked the prisoner, his voice was hard.

There was no response.

"Do I have to remind you again?" he asked.

The analyst still did not look up. "No," he replied. His voice was weak and there was no emotion in his tone, even less emotion than normal if that was possible.

"Answer the question, I will not ask it again."

"He's the owner of a cyber-café on Rygellus in the Gilan system. He's a system hacker."

"Why did you go see him?"

"I needed his resources. To contact Servalan."

_You're still trying to avoid the real question_ thought Sester.

"Do you really want me to drag this from you?" he asked warningly. "You know that you've already lost. All I have to do is give you one more day in here and I will know everything. I'm trying to spare you more pain; answer the question."

He could see Avon's body tense.

"I used his resources to create a version of an ASP."

"Like the one's Central Security uses as electronic spies?"

"Yes, a much more sophisticated version."

"What is the purpose of this ASP?"

"To find an antidote to the virus. Once it does, it will communicate this to the _Justice_ crew."

"And they will come and rescue you. Is that what they're waiting for?"

"No."

"No?"

"They don't know anything about the ASP."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I told you that I did not break the agreement."

"How is this not breaking the agreement?"

"The agreement was that I would not tell anyone or contact anyone. The ASP is not an anyone, it's a thing."

Sester laughed and nodded appreciatively. "Truth is in the definition. That's very good. Few people can surprise me Avon, and you consistently manage to do that, but she's not going to appreciate it as much as I do."

He studied Avon as they talked, the analyst never lifted his head during their whole conversation, his shoulders were slumped. There did not appear to be any fight left in him. There was no familiar verbal sparring and he answered everything asked, factually and without emotion.

"Look at me Avon."

The prisoner lifted his head. For a brief second, Sester saw something in his eyes, a flash which quickly disappeared.

Sester suppressed a smile, it had been anger and hatred.

_You couldn't hide that Avon. Perhaps it will be useful to have her work on you after this._

"Can it be destroyed easily?" he asked him.

"Yes."

"How?"

"I built in a self-destruct code in case of discovery."

"And you did not tell any of this to anyone?"

"No."

"That's good. We will speak more about this later but she wants to see you and I have to give you some rest before that."

There was no reaction from the analyst. Sester changed the mixture of drugs on the bio-injector and applied it to the prisoner's neck. He exited the cell, he could finally get a decent night's sleep himself; the review of the data crystal could wait.

With difficulty, due to his hands restrained behind him, Avon curled up on the ground again as the sedative began to take effect, he had cut it fine. He had allowed himself to be pushed until he could take no more. The sobbing had been an involuntary reaction, but made it all the more convincing. He had not done that since the first two months after Gauda Prime when, in Servalan's impatience, he had been tortured so severely that he lost count of the number of times his heart had stopped.

He had never been a convincing liar, not like Blake.

At the thought of Blake, he experienced a sharp stab of pain. Guilt. Would he never be able to think about Blake without that reaction?

One thing Avon had always been, was secretive. From Servalan and Sester's perspective, he had given them what they wanted, they did not need to know that he had made two provisions to save himself.

This latest round of tortures made him realize that he was nearing the end of his resistance. If it were not for the one remaining hope, he would have lost already.


	15. Chapter 15

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Fifteen

Avon was restrained to a chair in Servalan's private office. This time he was not alone, Servalan was tormenting him.

He avoided her eyes and his face was completely expressionless. He was only allowing that part of him which felt defeated, to rule his reactions. It was not difficult, months of being subjected to the nerve induction chamber had made him intimately acquainted with depression.

He knew she was getting frustrated with his lack of reaction. If he had allowed himself to, he would have laughed.

"Have we finally broken you Avon?" she asked caressing his cheek.

At his continued lack of response, she said, "Do I have to remind you that you do not have control here?"

He looked at her sharply upon hearing the familiar phrase.

She smiled at this response. "Yes, I've been watching."

His jaw tightened but his face remained passive. He looked away.

"What do you want from me? You already have everything, except what is covered in the agreements."

"Yes, because of the agreements, I have you. The only thing I don't have is ORAC or the ship; but with you, I don't really need them, do I?"

"I was a fool to agree."

"Yes, you were my dear. You basically agreed to allow us to break you."

She could see his jaw tighten again and very deliberately relax, there was no other reaction. She ran her hand across his chest. _Good, I was afraid that you wouldn't be fun anymore but that control is still there isn't it. _

"I don't have everything yet Avon," she continued.

"You mean there is something you haven't taken?" he asked bitterly.

"I want you to destroy the ASP you created."

How he hated this woman. He lowered his head and nodded, he had guessed that this was coming.

"Look at me Avon."

He complied.

"Death probably looks very good right now, doesn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," he admitted.

"I may grant you that one day, as a reward. But for now, it is in your best interests to do what I want or I will never allow you that. And don't provoke me Avon, that will only result in pain, not death. Remember the day you die, Cally and the rest of them also die."

"The rest of them? You've tried, you haven't succeeded."

"It's not a matter of trying Avon, I could kill them anytime I want."

He looked at her suspiciously. To Servalan lying was as normal as breathing but she was enjoying herself too much for what she was saying to be entirely false.

"The only thing which stops me is our agreement."

"You infected them too," he realized with dismay.

"Very good. It wasn't difficult, they walked into a trap and managed to escape," she said. "I admit, I had intended to kill them, all except Cally of course. Infecting them was a secondary objective in case they did escape. They don't even know they've been infected."

_It was foolish of them to go down to the mining asteroid without first verifying if it was safe or not,_ thought Servalan

"You broke our agreement," he accused her.

"No Avon, I didn't break it anymore than you did. I only promised not to kill them with the virus, I never said anything about not infecting them."

"That seems a pointless exercise, considering you are not going to risk breaking our agreement by using it."

"I'm surprised at you Avon, you still don't understand, it was not aimed at them."

_You may have no scruples Avon, but you still don't understand about power. _

"It deepens my hold over you," she explained.

She noticed that his breathing rate had increased slightly. _Am I finally getting to you?_

Her hands went to the zipper of his prison coveralls; she pulled it down and spread it open.

"I'm not sure I will ever want to let you go though, even when I no longer need your mind, you do have other uses." She began to explore his exposed body. "And you've shown me that you are very good at it; it was a mistake when you did that."

"I seem to be full of mistakes. Why do you even need me?"

"With respects to people and relationships, yes you are. But with machines, computers, and problem solving, your skill is unequalled. You are just as valuable with those as Sester is with the human element."

"That's why you used him on me."

"You never stood a chance against both of us; and with the nightmares, you were also fighting yourself."

"That was his idea?"

"Yes, it was. He's very good."

She touched a burn mark on his left side. It was one of many similar scars which she knew extended across his back. "Did it hurt when I gave you these?" she asked.

"You wouldn't have given them to me if it didn't."

"True."

She twisted one of the concentric circles on her presidential ring. A short laser dagger extended from the centre. It was a concealed assassin's weapon she had specially built into the ring. Very deliberately she applied it to the burn mark and began slicing into his flesh. He bit back a cry and tried to move away from her, but being restrained to the chair made it impossible.

"Don't move Avon, I'm trying not to reach any internal organs, but I can't guarantee that if you keep struggling," she warned him.

He pulled against the cuffs attaching his wrists to the back of the chair and willed himself to stay still as she continued cutting into him. She was very careful. After the first cut, she started a second one next to the first. Blood seeped from the wounds and dripped down his side. After the third parallel cut, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. He was trying to control his breathing, each breath stretched the cuts, causing more pain.

"Yes, you have many uses," she remarked, smiling fondly, remembering how she had often made use of him in the past two years to take out her anger and frustrations. No one else gave her that kind of satisfaction. Torturing any random prisoner was not as much fun. With him, it was personal; they had a long history.

She also remembered the times in the past when he had kissed her and then walked away in rejection.

He would never be able to do that again.

She caressed him again, avoiding the cuts and the flowing blood and enjoyed the tension in his body because he was unsure of what she would do next.

"Do you remember Domo Avon?"

"You mean, when you tried to kill me by sending Cancer after us?" he asked, his voice reflected the strain he was in.

Cancer had been a freelance assassin, the best; she never failed. Servalan had commissioned her to kill Avon and the rest of the Scorpio crew. Cancer had almost succeeded but unfortunately that 'almost', ended up killing herself instead. Avon and the rest of them escaped and Servalan had walked away frustrated again.

But Servalan was remembering the little incident which resulted in Avon being put on the slave block to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. He had intended to put himself in a position to discover her plans but had lost his teleport bracelet which had been his means of escape. Avon had not realized that Servalan would be one of the observers at the auction.

She applied the laser dagger to his body again, making another deep incision. "You know what I mean."

"It was a mistake." His jaw clenched in pain.

"I like to think it was fate. I paid a handsome price for you, I understand it set a record which still stands. You should be flattered."

"You'll excuse me if I don't feel flattered," he said flatly.

_That's good Avon. But I think we can do better than that_.

"Officially, I own you."

"The Federation does not condone slavery."

"And what do you think you have been this past year?"

He could no longer hide the hatred. She could see that he wanted to lunge towards her but was only held back by the restraints.

"Now Avon, that would be a foolish thing to do and useless. I would have to punish you."

He immediately let go of the anger, she had manipulated him again.

"You're learning." She stroked her hand down the length of his chest.

_Good. As long as you hold onto that anger and hatred, we will not be able to break you completely; that means that you will remain useful to me and be much more fun. But unfortunately for you, that also means that everything we do to you will be that much more unbearable._

She kissed him and as usual he responded to her. After a few moments she broke away.

"Good night Avon," she said patting his upper chest. She headed towards the door, leaving his coveralls spread open and the cuts still bleeding. "Lights, low," she spoke out loud, the automatic room control responded by dimming the room lights. She hesitated at the door before activating the door panel. "It's time to work Avon." She waved her hand across the sensor plate.

He could not afford another nightmare session. The last one in the isolation cell had already been too dangerous. If he was committed to this scenario, he needed to make it good.

"Don't do this," he pleaded as the door slid open.

"What did you say?" she turned around.

"I already gave you what you wanted. You don't need to do this."

Servalan walked back towards him. She put her hand under his chin and tilted his head up to face her.

"Is that fear I see in your eyes Avon?"

He did not respond.

She twisted her ring and applied the laser dagger again. Slowly she sliced into him again, there was a lot of blood now. He groaned in pain.

When she was done, she said, "You probably prefer the pain to the nightmares, don't you?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"You're fortunate I'm in a good mood today, though I shouldn't be. I should be furious with you, you nearly got away with it. But I am also full of admiration, we are well-matched, you and I. I think your survival instinct is even greater than Sester's."

"Sester?"

"Yes, our clever psychostrategist, he plays some dangerous games."

_Interesting,_ thought Avon.

For the next hour she kept him talking as the blood continued to flow from his wounds.

"Avon," she called out his name. The analyst was slumped forward in the chair, there was no response. He had stopped talking in mid-sentence.

Servalan got up from her chair and lifted his head, he was no longer aware of his surroundings. She saw the strain on his face, even barely conscious the conditioning was still forcing him to concentrate. She checked his pulse, it was rapid and so weak it barely registered against her fingers. He breathing was rapid and shallow. Servalan immediately applied a large healing pad to seal the cuts. She could feel the heat emanating from the pad as it closed the wounds. Avon moaned weakly, it was not the most painless procedure, especially without benefit of an anaesthetic patch but it was very effective. It was used by field troops to stem battle wounds quickly. She got a blood transfuser unit from a medkit, strapped it to his arm, inserted the needle and turned the unit on, this would replace the blood he had lost.

_We're going to have to get you cleaned up_ she thought. There was a large patch of partially drying blood on the lower half of his coveralls, extending down his leg and pooling on the ground around the chair.

"It's time to rest Avon."

The analyst sighed as his mind let go and allowed him to rest.

She ran her fingers through his hair affectionately.

_What have we done to you Avon? That you would ask to be tortured rather than face the nightmares again? They must be horrifying to be able to affect someone as cold as you are. Well, not exactly cold. _She smiled as she recalled his passion in bed.


	16. Chapter 16

**New Patterns and Old Friends: Hidden Games**

Chapter Sixteen

_Avon walked down the steps onto the flight deck._

_How many analysts does it take to change a light bulb? The ORAC unit asked Vila._

_"Look Avon, I've succeeded in making ORAC just like me," Vila told him, excited._

_Avon shook his head, this was not right. ORAC had much more important tasks, like finding the antidote. He needed to redirect the thief's attention._

_"Vila, haven't you finished with the inventory yet? Or is the task beyond you?"_

_"I don't take orders from you anymore Avon. You betrayed me," Vila turned his back on the analyst._

_"I don't know ORAC, how many analysts does it take to change a light bulb?" Vila responded to ORAC._

Their voices droned on but he could not hear them anymore, they seemed far away and were getting farther away by the minute. He tried to reach out to them, try to keep them close. He had to convince them to help him but he could not move. His hands were frozen and his feet were rooted to where he stood.

_Vila's voice echoed in his head. "You betrayed me Avon."_

Avon did not want to think about it. He struggled to move, to run after them. He had to make them understand.

* * *

"Avon, don't move, you'll open up the cuts again." 

Avon shook his head, he was breathing heavily. He felt a hand pushing against his chest, he stopped struggling and looked at the source of the hand.

"Servalan," he said coldly. The newly-healed cuts smarted.

Servalan's hand gently slid down his chest to the healing patch. She carefully removed it and studied the cuts. "They're healing nicely. Does it hurt?"

"Yes."

"With this," she touched the cuts lightly. "You're not going to be much use to me tonight. You know where this is headed?"

"I can guess."

"You're not going to try to dissuade me?"

"No."

"You've learned."

She went behind his chair and released him.

"What?" he asked, surprised at her actions.

"What did you think I was going to do?" she asked as she re-applied the restraints to his wrists in front.

"I thought," he started then fell silent.

"No more nightmares tonight," she told him. He had immediately slipped into a nightmare when he awoke after recovering from the loss of blood, she had not expected it. It was clear that his mind needed rest; like this he was of no use to her.

"Come." She helped him up. There was sharp pain from his knee again, he fell against her.

"Careful, or we'll both end up on the ground and you'll probably start bleeding again."

He steadied himself. Leaning against her, they slowly made their way up to her bedroom.

Once they were there, she handed him the keys to his manacles. The only time he was ever allowed to be free from restraints was in her bedroom.

"Release yourself and go wash up," she ordered him.

As he limped slowly to the bathroom, hanging onto various pieces of furniture, she took the palm-sized implant control from her night-table and dialled down the pain. By the time he reached the bathroom, he was walking easier and no longer needed to hold onto anything for support.

While he was washing up, Servalan sent down to the kitchens for a supplement drink and then retrieved the shirt and pants which had been left from the day he was sent to the cellar. When he re-entered the room, he was wearing a towel tied around his waist. He limped over to where she sat on the bed.

"Sit," she told him, patting the spot beside her.

He sat down. "Here, drink this," she handed him the glass.

He looked at it suspiciously.

"You drug one drink and you're suspected forever," she protested jokingly. "Don't worry, it's just a supplement drink"

He did as directed. When he was done, she took the glass and put it on the night-table.

She leaned forward and kissed him. He put his arms around her.

After a few moments she gently pushed him away.

"Lie down," she told him. He complied. Once she lay down beside him, he rolled towards her. The cuts were painful but he was used to pain. But he could also feel them stress and pull, he grimaced and slowed his movement. Servalan put a hand against his chest and directed him back down. "Don't move. You're going to open up the cuts." She checked the healing wounds, touching them lightly. "You're fine."

She picked up the bio-injector from her night-table and injected the sedative mixture into his neck.

"What?"

"Stop asking 'what' and just sleep Avon."

* * *

Avon woke slowly, he kept his eyes closed for a moment, assessing his situation. He was lying on a bed, not a hard surface. He still felt tired but not the exhaustion he normally felt, it was a strange feeling for him. There was pain from his knee and side but that was normal. He was hungry; this was also a normal condition. 

A warm, sensuous hand was exploring his body. He opened his eyes.

"Hello. I was afraid you were going to sleep all day." It was Servalan. She was wearing casual clothes, well casual for her. She was continuing her explorations as they talked.

"What time is it?" he asked. He was puzzled, this was only the second time he had woken up in her bedroom. Usually she had him drugged and taken back to the Detention Centre. When he woke, it was usually in his cell, or in one of the interrogation rooms, or in the induction chamber; depending on her mood.

"It's almost evening. It is a shame that we won't be able to do anything further until this heals."

"When has that ever stopped you?"

"I don't like blood on my sheets Avon, it's very difficult to get out and I like these sheets."

"We wouldn't want that. We don't actually need the bed."

She laughed. "Always the problem-solver." She bent over, kissed him lightly and then touched her index finger to his lips. "Not tonight, I have a state dinner to attend to; one of those tiresome affairs with lots of speeches and bowing from no one of particular importance."

"Then why have them?"

"The burdens of office dearest."

"Sounds boring."

She chuckled. "It is. You wouldn't want to apply that brilliant mind of yours and find a way to make it less tedious?"

"Burdens of office."

"You're heartless."

"So many people have told me."

"Now go wash up. I'll get the kitchens to send up another supplement drink; then I'll have the guards return you to the Detention Centre. Oh and your old clothes are on the table by the couches."

He nodded and headed towards the bathroom.

Servalan reflected on their interaction. It was the first time they had a normal conversation together.

_Is this what it would have been like if we had been able to be partners? It is too bad that it will never be possible._

She couldn't trust him and he was much too dangerous not to be controlled; and because she had to maintain that control, he could be trusted even less.

It was the paradox of their relationship.

* * *

When it was time for him to be returned to the Centre, Servalan had feelings of regret. She enjoyed his company. There was a refreshing directness about him, a sharp and unforgiving wit, and a total lack of pretence. The only deceptions he ever practiced was for personal survival, and even then he was very bad at it. 

Servalan also had a brief pang of guilt at what they were about to do to him, but only brief.

The Federation President had changed into a beautiful white gown in preparation for the state dinner, simple but elegant; she was a vision of beauty. Men were so easily distracted and as a result, they often misjudged her. It would serve her purposes tonight.

"I want your best work when you get back to the lab. I have a special project for you, it's very important."

She picked up the manacles from the cabinet where he had dropped them the night before and walked towards him.

"When have I ever done less than my best in the lab?" he asked her.

"Or in bed," she added, teasing him as he held out his hands for her to re-apply the restraints.

He didn't react except for a narrowing of the eyes indicating his annoyance.

"I'm serious Avon. Do you remember the attack at Star One?" she asked as she snapped one bracelet to his wrist then the other.

"You have to ask?"

"The whole border in that sector is being patrolled. Your new design grid for the minefield was invaluable in bringing the defences back up quickly and your work on the phase-TD engine will give us a tactical advantage. I am having scouting parties sent out. We need to be proactive and find out more about the enemy in case they attack again. I want you to design a new anti-detector screen, one which is invisible to even close range visual scanners."

"I told you that I would not give you anything involving my time on the Liberator."

"That's true but this is to save the human race."

"I have no particular fondness for the human race."

"Then do it for Blake, you owe him."

He did not respond.

"What do you think the nightmares will do to you if you don't do this?"

"Damn you."

"Such language Avon, not typical of you."

Being a cold, logical man, Avon had never found the need to use the more colourful aspects of language. Not to mention, it was not in the character of an alpha. Their expressions of attack were usually much more substantial and did not involve the baser methods employed by those who could do nothing.

"You'll do it then?"

He said, "Yes." There was a hint of anger in his eyes. "Don't use Blake against me again."

She smiled but promised nothing. Taking hold of the chain connecting the bracelets, she pulled him towards her. They kissed.

A buzzer sounded.

"The lesser grades have no sense of timing," she complained as she released her hold on him.

She activated the door control. The guards entered and led him out.

"Until next time Avon," were her parting words.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

"How did you destroy the Federation ASP?" Sester asked the prisoner.

They were both in the lab; it was the first time Sester had visited him here. The guards and the minders were standing off to the side, except for one who stood behind the prisoner, a pain rod in his hand.

The prisoner was sitting in front of the computer terminal. There was a Federation senior military computer specialist who was seated in the tandem terminal beside him. A Federation advanced military engineer was also in attendance. The engineer was bent over the open back panel of the computer, making some connections as Sester questioned the prisoner.

"I built the equivalent of an electronic cage using a hand-held unit," the prisoner answered.

"Show us what you did," Sester directed.

The prisoner drew a circuit diagram using the guided laser pointer. The engineer studied the diagram after he had made the final connections to the computer. The computer specialist began typing away at his terminal, testing the connections.

"What do you think? Do you have the parts here?" Sester asked the engineer.

"It's a clever design, didn't realize you could do that with the reversal circuits. The parts are all here," he tapped his equipment satchel.

"Good, give him the parts," Sester directed the man.

The engineer removed a hand unit from his satchel and several tools and placed them on the desk beside the prisoner.

"Build it," Sester told him. The prisoner took up one of the tools and began removing the panel on the hand unit, each of his movements were slow and deliberate. The engineer was monitoring him carefully.

After a few minutes, the prisoner handed the unit back to the engineer who checked over the modifications.

"Is everything alright?" asked Sester.

"Looks fine to me sir," was the reply.

"Hook it up then." The engineer took one of the leads which now protruded from the back of the computer and connected it to the hand-unit.

"Bring it here," Sester directed the prisoner.

The prisoner turned back to the terminal and began typing in a set of instructions. The instructions were reflected on the screen on the tandem terminal screen.

"Let me know the moment there is something wrong," Sester directed the computer specialist.

"Yes, sir," the specialist replied as he monitored the input from the prisoner.

The prisoner stopped typing and sat back.

"Why have you stopped?" Sester asked.

"I'm waiting. It might take a few minutes depending on where it is. I've just sent a general recall code and a destination address."

The computer specialist nodded to the psychostrategist, indicating that the prisoner had not lied.

After a few minutes, both terminals beeped and went blank.

"What did you do?" Sester asked, his voice was cold.

The guard leaned forward in anticipation, his pain rod ready.

"It's here," the prisoner replied calmly.

The computer specialist began to type on his keyboard furiously. He looked up and nodded to the psychostrategist.

"Trap it," Sester directed the prisoner.

The man looked up at the psychostrategist briefly then back down to the screen, he did as directed. It was the first time he exhibited any signs of being anything other than someone who was only there to follow directions. Throughout the whole process the prisoner had been completely expressionless, not looking anyone in the face and did exactly as he was told without comment or any other reaction. The military engineer and computer specialist had started wondering if the man whom they were monitoring was a robot.

"It's in," the prisoner reported.

The screen on the hand-unit began scrolling; screen after screen of data began appearing. The computer specialist studied the data, and then he nodded to Sester.

"Remove the connections," Sester directed the engineer who unplugged the lead from the unit. "Now remove all the network links."

To the specialist he said, "Did you get all you need?"

"Yes, I've made a back-up of its data core so it can be studied more closely." He removed a small data crystal from the unit.

"Very good, now give him the unit."

The specialist handed the hand-unit back to the prisoner.

"Destroy it," Sester ordered the prisoner.

The man input the destruct code sequence, the scrolling data on the screen slowed and stopped, and then the screen went blank. Shortly it returned with a single message, "Data error." He put the unit down and looked at the psychostrategist.

Sester turned to the guard, "Secure him." The guard unlocked one of the bracelets on the prisoner's wrist and secured his hands behind him to the chair.

As the guard was doing this, Sester addressed the computer specialist, "Send me a preliminary report by the end of the day."

"Yes, sir."

"Everyone clear the room and I want a full security black-out." Everyone filed out.

The red lights on the security monitors went out.

When the door slid closed, Sester addressed Avon, "You did well."

"She didn't get what she wanted."

The psychostrategist looked up at one of the deactivated monitors and laughed. "No she didn't. She understands your character, but she doesn't know what your mind is capable of. Once you gave up the ASP, you cut it out of your calculations, didn't you?"

"Did I?"

Sester smiled. Avon had come back from her different. It wasn't just the increased level of energy, which surprised him; he had not expected her to give him that much rest. _Are you getting to her as much as she is getting to you? _The strategist was fascinated by their interaction.

The sarcasm was back but here was also a resigned aspect to the analyst now, and an element of bitterness. It was as if he now accepted his prison, but a part of him would always try to break down the walls.

_That's good Avon but still not quite it what we want. We are close though._

Sester picked up the implant control which had been sitting on a table nearby; he increased the constant pain setting and changed it to a sharp stabbing pain. The analyst responded by gasping in pain. Sester waited a few moments, giving him time to adjust to the new pain level.

"Keep your eyes on me when I'm talking to you Avon." The analyst obeyed.

The questions came fast; the pressure constant and insistent.

"Did you program any other countermeasures?" the strategist asked.

"No. I only had time to program this one."

_I highly doubt that Avon _Sester thought.

"Did you tell anyone about the techno-virus?

"No."

"Other than Cracer, did you ask anyone else for help?"

"No."

"What does Cracer know?"

"Nothing. I was careful not to reveal anything to him."

"You know we had him pulled in?"

"I'm not surprised."

"We will know if you've lied to us."

"He doesn't know anything."

"Did you tell anyone about the agreements you made with the President?"

"No."

"Did you tell anyone what you have been doing here?"

"No."

"Why do you have such a strong reaction when you're isolated in the President's office?"

"If you were required to do what I have to, you would have a strong reaction too."

_You avoided that question nicely._

"Why is the _Justice_ crew not coming after you?"

"I made them suspect me."

"How?"

"It wasn't difficult; I have never given any of them any reason to trust me."

"You've never had any loyalties except to yourself?"

"I have never made a secret of that, if they thought otherwise, that was their own mistake. I just showed them their mistake."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"They were suspicious from the beginning when I refused to tell them what happened since Terrus. I made it logical for them to assume that I had made a deal with Servalan to save myself."

"Clever. It's not that far from the truth, is it Avon?"

"Then I shot Argus when he tried to stop me from leaving."

"No wonder they haven't done anything to try to find you."

"If they do, it would only be to kill me."

"Why would you cut yourself off from the only people who could help you?"

Avon laughed. "No one has ever tried to help me. The only thing anyone has ever tried to do is use me for their own agenda."

"Even Cally?"

The analyst paused. "Even Cally."

Avon had a brief flash of memory of Cally before he went down to Terminal_, if you want one of your own cold, rational explanations, we can't afford to lose you._

"Did you make any other plans to obtain the antidote to the techno-virus?"

"No."

"You're a terrible liar, Avon."

There was a pause in the questions as the psychostrategist gave the analyst time to digest his last comment.

Avon was perspiring, he was breathing heavily; with the pain and the constant pressure of the questions it took a lot out of him.

"Are we finished playing this game? Or do you have more questions before you have me tortured?" Avon asked. There was a tinge of sarcasm and bitterness in his tone.

"You're right. She wants you punished for the ASP, but she has something for you to do first."

"Yes I know, save the human race. Again." There was a very strong tone of sarcasm and bitterness.

"You don't have any use for us do you?"

"Use? That's an interesting choice of word."

"You won't be punished until after you complete the anti-detector screen; but don't think to delay the inevitable Avon, we can start the torture before the end of the project. Then everything will become much harder."

Avon smiled. He knew that they would most likely start regardless of how long he took. "When has the torture ever had conditions here?"

Sester nodded, acknowledging Avon's comment. That had always been their strategy for him; disobeying their commands always resulted in pain; following their commands never prevented torture, that was always at the whim of his captors.

"I want you to stop provoking the people here."

"Why, have they been complaining?" he asked cynically.

"I know why you're doing it," the strategist told him. "And you will stop it. I have told you many times, you do not have control here. I will not say it again."

It was the stripping away of another layer of control.

The analyst sighed and nodded.

"By the way, Cracer already confirmed what you said. He's on his way to a penal planet, his memory has been wiped."

"The Federation's Rule of Law? Or Servalan's?"

"For you, it's the same thing."

"Yes, for you it will always be my dearest Avon," a feminine voice came from behind him.

Avon did not turn his head around. "Servalan."

With both of them here, he knew that something very unpleasant was coming. It was no longer simply a matter of answering or deflecting questions.

When she came into his field of vision, Avon saw that she was holding a pain rod.

He began laughing. For anyone else it would have been an extremely inappropriate response to the situation he was in, to him, it was highly amusing.

"What's so funny?" she asked. She was clearly annoyed.

They may have him outnumbered, and they may have all the advantages, but he was going to get in a first strike.

"Just what kind of relationship do the two of you have?" Avon asked with a tone which made her angry.

That brought about swift punishment, as he had expected. She set the pain rod to its maximum setting and applied it to his body. His screamed and his body arched like a bow pulled tight, the cuffs securing his hands to the back of the chair cut into his wrists. Using the highest setting like this without first acclimatizing the subject using the lower settings, brought a great shock to the system and tended to make the sufferer pass out quickly, especially one in a weakened condition. Servalan stopped before it reached that point.

When the rod was lifted, Avon was breathing heavily, trying to regain his bearings.

"Do you feel like laughing now?"

He smiled. Servalan moved forward with the rod again.

"No." The smile disappeared, but there was still faint amusement in his eyes.

She was about to apply the rod again when Sester stopped her with his voice.

"Madame President."

She arrested her movement and turned towards the psychostrategist.

"He knows something is going to happen. He's trying to gain some measure of control by provoking us."

She turned towards their bound victim. "Do you enjoy the game Avon?" She brought the rod close to his chest, close enough that a deep breath would cause it to touch him. He pressed himself further into the chair but she followed his movement.

"Only against a worthy opponent," was his reply.

As he spoke, she brought the rod even closer. He was breathing very shallowly now, trying to avoid it.

"And do you think you're a worthy opponent for us?"

He looked at her coldly. She had brought the rod so close that he could no longer breathe and in order to answer her, he had to take a breath. It was a contest of wills, which he knew he would lose, but not yet. His eyes gave her nothing; every act of defiance was a refusal of their power over him. It was a gesture only but for him it was very important.

"You're allowing him control again," Sester told her, making an adjustment to the implant control.

A sudden tearing pain from Avon's knee made him scream and arch in pain, which caused his body to contact the rod. He howled in agony as the maximum setting on the rod ripped through his body again even as the pain from the implant continued. His mind could barely handle fighting both sources of intense pain at once.

After two minutes of pain, Sester turned off the implant control. "I think he's had enough, any longer and his mind will go into shock."

Servalan lifted the rod and also turned hers off. The analyst slumped forward, his breathing was laboured.

"I haven't had enough," she said, "and that's what's important isn't it Avon?" She turned his head towards her, his eyes were not focusing.

"I don't think his mind is back yet," the strategist told her. "You can't play with him too much if you want him to be able to do what you want."

"You're right," she acknowledged.

Sester had appreciated Avon's first strike; it had been a clean blow. He recognized that it had not been aimed at him and it had annoyed Servalan to no end.

He smiled inwardly; it had not affected him in the least. He knew exactly what kind of relationship he had with the Federation President.

Servalan picked up a glass of water which was on the table and threw its contents into the analyst's face.

The splash of water revived him. Avon raised his head and regarded them both; his expression was carefully neutral as the water dripped down his face.

They were like two predators playing with a helpless prey. He refused to be helpless but he knew that it was more a state of mind than a reality for him.

They had still not revealed what they wanted from him.

"You never answered my question," Servalan told him. "Do you think you're a match for us?"

"Before you did this to me, more than a match, otherwise you would never have gone to such great lengths, and you are still going to great lengths," his look pointedly at her. "But it's no longer a fair match, is it?" This challenge was addressed at Sester.

Sester laughed. "Very good Avon."

"I'm tired of this game. Why don't you tell me what you want and I can tell you whether you need to torture me to get it."

"You always try to take the fun out of things," complained Servalan jokingly, "but I think I'll torture you afterwards, just for fun."

Avon looked at her coldly. "You still haven't answered my question."

Sester nodded to Servalan, one after the other they activated their instruments of pain. First the implant control then several seconds later, the touch with the pain rod.

Avon screamed.

"Two minutes again?" Servalan asked her partner.

"That should be enough."

"We're going to need more water," she noted clinically as the analyst struggled and moaned in agony.

"We could always call a medtech back in, they're waiting just outside."

The sounds of suffering suddenly stopped, Sester immediately went over to check the prisoner.

"He's passed out and his heart is erratic. We should get a medtech back in here."

"No. We just need the equipment; I can manage whatever he needs."

"You have many unexpected talents, Madame President."

"I am very well versed in all aspects of torture."

"Why I am not surprised. Are you still using maximum?"

"Yes."

"Even he may not be able to handle having two sources of intense of pain for long."

"If he can take the Shredder, he can endure this; but it would be inconvenient if he keeps passing out."

"You have to be careful; even with the rest you gave him, which was unexpected, by the way, he's still been through a lot in the isolation cells and hasn't recovered yet.

"Everyone wants to take the fun away today," she grinned. "Very well. I will bring the setting down to seven, that way he can still answer questions." She reached forward and ran her fingers through the unconscious prisoner's hair. "He still doesn't know what's been going on."

"Not yet. He's poured everything he has left into fighting the wrong thing and building his hope on something he doesn't think we know about. When we reveal the truth to him it will be a devastating blow, he will finally realize that he has nothing. It will present an impossible situation for him; don't wait too long before you present him with the compromise."

"Poor Avon. I will be careful."

Avon's reaction to the two of them and his ability to fight them had told Sester that his psych-mapping had been correct, the analyst still had hope. He had given them one secret but it was not the only secret he was hiding from them.

Sester's strategy had anticipated that this was a strong possibility and rather than waste more time forcing the information from the analyst, they were going to close the door of possibilities. The whole purpose of the past month had been building to this last step. The whole exercise had been about control and the destruction of all hope. Avon never knew that his struggles to protect his secrets had been for nothing.

"I want to put some bio-sensors on him as well, they will monitor his condition and it will be very useful in gauging his involuntary reactions," he told her.

"Good idea, go get the equipment."

As Sester went to obtain the required kit from the medtech outside, Servalan opened up Avon's grey coveralls. She gently touched the fresh cuts she had made the previous night, they were healing nicely.

"Did you do that?" Sester asked as he handed her the kit. He was also carrying a large pitcher of water which he placed on the table. The strategist always admired her creativity in devising new ways to torture the analyst.

"That's none of your business," she said as she opened up the med-kit and started arranging various items on the table beside them.

_You're very sensitive about what you do with him,_ Sester noted.

Servalan put several bio-sensor patches on the analyst's chest and one to his temple. She took out the portable life-monitor, turned it on and placed it on the table next to Sester, facing away from the prisoner. The monitor indicated Avon's stress level, his heart was beating fast.

She took out a bio-injector, chose a heart-stabilization mixture and injected it into his neck. The heart monitor slowed to a steady beat, Sester turned the sound off but kept the visual displays on.

"Wake him up," Servalan directed the psychostrategist, indicating the pitcher of water.

Sester filled the glass and poured the contents on the analyst's head. Avon shook his head as the water poured down.

"What did I tell you about control Avon?" Sester asked him.

"You don't have any?" he replied tonelessly. Sester reached for the implant control.

Avon added, "She does."

Sester laughed and looked over at Servalan. He nodded to her; they both made an adjustment and then applied pain again. The analyst moaned and pulled against his chains, his wrists were already bleeding. They gave him a moment to adjust to the new pain level.

"You gave us the ASP and you destroyed it," said Sester, "but I do not believe that was the only one. You dismissed it too easily for that to be the only one."

Avon moaned in pain. He could barely concentrate on what the strategist was saying.

"Pay attention Avon. Look at me."

The prisoner focused his eyes on the strategist, it took a great effort.

"Do you know what I'm saying?"

Avon nodded.

"Say it."

"Yes." The effort to speak seemed to cause him additional pain, he bit back another groan.

"Every time you defy us, this is going to happen. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Sester nodded to Servalan, in response she removed the pain rod and turned it off.

Sester did not turn the implant off.

"I want you to apologize to the President for your lack of manners," Sester told him.

There was a quick flash of anger which was replaced by a strained blankness. Avon turned around to look at her. "I'm sorry if I offended you Madame President."

"Why so formal Avon?" Servalan asked him. She touched his face.

"What do you want Servalan?" he asked.

Her fingers traced his lips; she smiled reflectively as she ignoring his question. Her fingers trailed down his throat, to his chest until she rested against the healing cuts. Without warning she scratched deeply with her long fingernails along his side, leaving deep furrows of blood and opening up one of the cuts again. He gasped in pain.

"Sester is right; you are too much of a distraction."

"Then kill me."

"Oh no, not that, never that; you still have too many things to atone for."

"I thought I was too useful."

"You're going to be here a long time."

He looked at her coldly.

Even though there was only one source of pain now, well two including the deep scratches she just inflicted on him, the level of pain seemed to be increasing and the longer the pain was left, the more it drained him. He suspected it was another aspect of the implant.

"Enough fun for now, let's get down to business." She nodded to Sester.

"Avon." The analyst turned his face towards the psychostrategist. "As I said before, we do not believe that you only created one ASP, it's not in your character to be so careless that you would not make a back-up. It would be tedious to have to subject you to the isolation chamber again until you gave up everything, so I have a better solution. As you have proven with the Federation Banking's security system, you are just as adept at creating an unbreakable security system as you are at breaking into them. So that is what you will do, to protect the techno-virus research station, you will create a system which is completely secure from both physical and virtual assault and remember, we have extensive records of the ASP you trapped for us so we will know if the system you create is secure from this kind of incursion."

As they presented their requirements, Avon's stomach twisted. It had been logical that they suspected he had made alternate plans, the psychostrategist's profile would have told him that. He realized that it was a mad hope that they would believe that he did not have the time or ability to make more than one arrangement. Between the two of them, they knew him very well but they still did not know about ORAC, they did not know that even without the activation key, it could still be accessed using the transmitter he had built. They did not know he had access to it while aboard the _Justice_.

Servalan added, "And Avon, I want you to build a security system that even ORAC cannot penetrate."

Avon kept his face carefully neutral but it felt like someone had just stabbed him through the heart.

Servalan and Sester looked at each other as the stress and heart readings on the life monitor took a big jump upwards.

"We know why you're afraid of the two hours of isolation in the President's office. It's because of this." Sester pointed towards Servalan. She was holding up ORAC's activation key. There was still no reaction on his face, but as Avon saw the key, he felt as if the ground had just dropped out from under him. They had known all along and now he realized, too late, that he had given up the wrong thing. His enemies had guessed about ORAC, they had not known about the ASP.

Sester continued, "You keep telling us that you did not break the agreements and we believe you, but that does not mean that you did not tell the crew where ORAC's key is. That was your other plan, wasn't it? ORAC falls outside your agreements with the President, just as the ASP does. You must have found a way to inform ORAC once the crew retrieves the key. I do not know why they have not tried yet but you must have been restricted by the agreement."

"Avon," Servalan addressed him. "You will create this new security system and you will make it impervious to ORAC's manipulation and any form of attack or infiltration by it in case the crew ever does manage to retrieve the key. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Avon nodded.

Servalan continued, "We know that the crew of the _Justice_, yes, we know what they have named the ship now, from your last nightmare in the isolation chamber and I completely agree, it is a highly inappropriate name. We know that they will continue to try to find the antidote. They have to in order to rebuild their little rebellion. You will also make the research station secure from them."

This must have been what they were after all along.

They had outmaneuvered him; all of his struggles, all of the efforts which had left him completely drained had all been for nothing. He had been played from beginning to end, it had all been a setup; the questions, the use of the torture and nightmares to get him to reveal his secrets and the charade with the destruction of the ASP; he had never stood a chance against these two.

Even if they did not know the real truth, it no longer mattered. By asking him to do this, they were asking him to prevent ORAC, and the remaining ASP from finding the very antidote he had asked them to find. With this they had gone from making him fight himself, to making him fight the others for them.

With the time in the isolation chamber, he knew he no longer had anything left to fight his two deadliest foes; he had allowed them to push him to the breaking point and he had helped them. It had been another mistake on his part.

He felt like a wounded animal; trapped and bleeding in the corner, no longer able to fight while they continued to taunt and torture him. If he was a man who gave expression to emotions, he would have screamed.

"Are we going to have to force you to do this?" Sester asked him.

The analyst did not answer; they saw the tension in his body. The monitors revealed a great internal struggle going on, the stress readings had spiked again.

After a few moments of this Sester demanded, "Avon, give me an answer."

Still the analyst did not respond.

"Come now Avon," Servalan addressed him. "You are a reasonable man."

"Well, actually what we are asking him to do is to extinguish all hope, which is not reasonable," Sester remarked to her. He addressed Avon, "But of course the only choice you have left, is whether you will do this in pain or not. You know that don't you Avon?"

"Look at me Avon," Servalan demanded. Her captive reluctantly raised his head to meet her eyes, she was clearly enjoying herself. But there was something else in her eyes, pity. Her sadistic enjoyment he could take, but not this. He looked away again but she took hold of his chin and forced him to face her; even in this, he no longer had a choice.

"Have you finally reached your wall?" she asked as she looked down into his eyes and caressed his face.

Her words brought up a memory of another conversation; the day when insurrectionists, and Anna, had attempted a coup and taken over Residence One, including the Federation President. They had beaten Servalan up and then chained her to a wall in the cellar when Avon arrived, looking for information. Information he had been willing to free her for in order to obtain.

_Avon had grabbed the chained President by the throat and asked, "Have you finally lost your nerve? Have you murdered your way to the wall of an underground room?"_

_"It's an old wall, Avon, it waits. I hope you don't die before you reach it," she had replied._

The memory faded, leaving only her pitying eyes before him. It was a wall of pain and failure; a wall where everything was taken away, leaving one chained and without hope. He had freed her then as he had promised; he should have killed her.

"Is that it Avon?" Servalan asked. "Did you survive to face your wall?"

"I saved your life that day," he said.

"And in return I gave you Bartholomew. It's not my fault that the Federation's top undercover agent turned out to be Anna."

"Don't make me do this," he begged her.

"You still don't understand Avon; there is no other choice for you. If I have to, I will put you back in the isolation cells and keep you there until you agree to do this."

"No." The word came out as a strangled whisper. He could not fight them anymore, not in that room, and neither could he do what they asked. The impossibility of his situation was overwhelming him.

The stress level had reached the highest point on the monitor, any higher and it would be off the scale. He was on the verge of collapse. His mind was struggling with two opposing forces he could not reconcile.

Sester nodded to Servalan, now came the compromise.

"There is one thing I can grant you," she told him, "the life of the _Justice_ crew. If they try to break into the research station or try to obtain a sample of the virus, or try to retrieve ORAC's key, I will stop them but I will not kill them. I do not guarantee that I will not injure them, we do have to protect ourselves, but I will not have them killed. If they are successful in any of these though, I will kill them instantly. Whether this happens or not, depends on how good your security system is in preventing this. In a way, you are building this security system to protect them, as much as the virus."

Something deep inside him was dying.

Servalan had given him a choice which was not really a choice for him, just like all the other choices she had given him. That was something Blake had understood about Avon and had used repeatedly; as long as he gave the analyst at least the semblance of a choice, Avon would do what was required.

The _Justice_ crew. He should just let them all die, and then he would be free. Nothing to hold him; just as he had almost done with Vila years ago in the autoshuttle. The decision had been simple then, Vila's life or his, and he had chosen his own. An unavoidable necessity. He had no choice. If he had not stumbled on a different solution, Vila would be dead.

But he did have a choice and he had made the wrong one then. It was that realization later that had made him want to stay with Tarrant when the Scorpio spiraled to its doom. He had never wanted to do it again.

And now he was being presented with that choice again. This one was even harder because the choice was not life and death. It was a living death.

Servalan's hand touched Avon's bared chest. She was a deadly spider playing with her prey and he was caught in her web. He shuddered.

This was a sacrifice greater than the one he had made for Cally; then he still had hope that he would be able to escape. With this one, they were asking him to extinguish that hope; his life would continue to be a living nightmare, but it would now become one that he would never be able to free from.

_You're not the sacrificial type._ Servalan hold told him once.

_I'm not. But why can't I do this? Why can't I let them die? _

He no longer wanted to live but he couldn't let them die. For them to live, he couldn't die. His mind was at war.

Even though the crew had every reason to hate and kill him now, he could not let them die, not if he could do anything to prevent it.

Avon had given up almost everything, and his own life, which he had always valued above all else, had become a burden to him. He wanted death but even this had been taken from him.

The only thing he had left was what Servalan offered him.

He was dead but the crew would live, that was his only choice.

He realized what was dying, it was hope.

"You win."

With those two words he surrendered hope; and he hated himself.

Servalan and Sester had been watching Avon carefully and were observing the reactions on the life monitors. It had been fascinating watching him struggle.

"How does it feel to have all hope taken away?" she asked the analyst.

"Don't you know?" he asked bitterly.

"Fortunately I had you to rescue me then," she told him.

"I should have killed you."

"But you're a man of your word."

He was too tired and too defeated to even hate her. The pain in his knee had become unbearable, just like all of the other things in his life.

"I'm tired. Can I work without the pain, for a few hours?"

Servalan and Sester looked at each other. They both respected this man and between the two of them, they had just crushed him. It really had not been a fair contest. She nodded at Sester, and then said to the prisoner, "I can be magnanimous in victory."

The psychostrategist turned off the constant pain activator on the implant control.

Servalan released the analyst from the chair. With water from the pitcher, she cleansed the blood from his wrists where the bracelets had cut into him, and the scratches she had given him and applied an antiseptic cream. Her gentleness caused him even greater pain than any torture she had inflicted. She put a healing patch to reseal the opened wound, zipped up his coveralls and re-applied the restraints in front; the bio-sensor pads had been left on him. Throughout the whole process, he did not look at her even though her actions caused more pain; he no longer looked at either one of them.

"Get to work," she ordered him.


End file.
